Where Words Fail: Book 1: A Fight for Survival
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: In a world without Jet, and where the Avatar is presumed dead, two Freedom Fighters must persevere against staggering odds and take the fate of the world into their own hands.
1. Book 1, Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book One: A Fight for Survival**

**Chapter 1: Brave soldier boy, comes marching home**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-1-1-126520560

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"There's no time. Just go. He's our leader. We'll take care of him." And then, they were gone, and the earth door slid shut behind them, and only the Freedom Fighters remained.

Stupid.

Clutching Jet's hands with her own, Smellerbee felt her face contort into a hideous frown, her eyes scrunched tight. He was - clammy, slick with sweat, and his fingers moved stiffly as he wrapped them around her palms. Hunched over the fallen, shaggy-haired teenage boy, whose armor had been crushed as his ribcage had been, the moment was too surreal for her. This couldn't be happening, Jet was the center of her _world_, she owed so much to him. They _all_ did, he had saved so many children from the Fire Nation, given them a home and a family where they had nothing else. He laid on this ice-cold stone, eyes gone foggy and distant... he was still there, still alive, but for how long? Not very. Not at all. It wasn't fair.

They were all so _stupid_.

Smellerbee's throat clogged, and her tongue became thick and useless; she felt moist, hot streams of _something_ tracing thin trails down her cheeks, onto her chin, dripping away, but she couldn't hear herself sobbing. All she could perceive was the reverberated sloshing of water filtering through the caverns, and, and _Jet_. His hands, so unresponsive in hers; his breathing, shallow and wet, because of the, the _blood_. The same blood seeping through his tunic, staining it a slick black color, like somebody had spilled ink on him. The same blood that trickled from the corners of his mouth, his teeth and tongue stained scarlet. Her vision blurred for a moment, but she blinked it away, she _needed_ to see him. To keep focused on him. Maybe if she stared long and hard enough, he would just spring back up to his feet, laugh sheepishly and run a hand through his mussed hair. "_Oops; I guess I should'a moved a little faster,"_ because he _did_ that whenever he got hurt from something he could walk away from.

Stupid Longshot had to open his mouth - to make Aang's departure seem so final.

Stupid Smellerbee hadn't been able to keep Jet's focus in place.

Stupid Jet couldn't just move on with his life, and now he laid here, facing his own mortality.

She ran a hand through Jet's brown hair, an unkempt mop much like her own. He did that to her all the time, and it annoyed her when he did - because it meant he was pretending to treat her like a kid. It hadn't mattered that he was joking, she took it to heart regardless, but now...now there wouldn't be any more of that, would there? It made her stomach flip-flop inside her belly. It didn't _matter_ how much she hated it, it was still something Jet _did_, and, and a life without it...

Before she'd realized, words managed to slip past her teeth, low and quivering and weak. "Stupid Jet."

Jet's eyes flickered to her and for a moment, he shone through the creeping fog overtaking him. "Heh. That's not nice." He tried to smirk - to flash the familiar, lopsided grin he'd been so well known for ever since Smellerbee had met him. She felt her throat hitch when his cheeks twitched and the smirk vanished, because, no, it _couldn't_ go away, like him rubbing her hair, and..."Doesn't mean I don't have it coming. Bee...Longshot...I'm sorry."

"Stupid, stupid Jet..." Smellerbee shook her head and slid her hand from the tangle of his hair down to his forehead, smooth and slick and just as lukewarm as his hands. She drew a tight, thick breath, and - oh, she didn't want to _say_ it, but keeping silent would be cold... "Close your eyes...it's okay. You can let go."

"Nfh - " He spasmed under her grasp, his face twisting up - she couldn't tell if it was because of the pain, or because the pain was too far away for him to perceive. "I - I feel like I - failed, Bee. My family - my friends - dying now...haven't made up...couldn't save themghk - " He yielded a feeble, thin cough, a small spray of blood hissing up into the air before settling down on his chin, his clothes. Panic started to tug at her insides but she stomped it down, because, because it was _too late_ for panic, wasn't it? The realization made her stomach burn, because not panicking meant giving up hope and, oh, please, Jet _could_ pull through this, he _could_...

"Shhh..." She cooed - like a, like a mother to a frightened child, leaned in close, planting the ghost of a kiss on his forehead and it hurt thinking like this because Jet had been the one to raise _her_. "You fought h-hard, Jet. You were brave. Your family would be proud. _We're_ proud."

"You think so...?" His voice - quiet, now, fading, fast. No, no, no, no. "Bee? Really?"

"Yes. Your family is so, so proud of you, Jet." She wanted to plead with him, _no, please don't __go__, the Freedom Fighters need you, Longshot and __I__ need you_. To protest, screaming, balling up her fists and throwing them up into the air, a temper tantrum, because being calm wasn't doing anything, and maybe, maybe if she _did_ act like a kid, Jet would realize how important he was, right? Right? Then he'd fight back against this, he'd be okay, because he was too _stubborn_ to go out like this. Murdered by an Earthbender.

"Oh...good..." He wheezed, his chest heaving, his breath irregular and, and... "I'm so glad - so glad...Bee...?"

"I'm here." She wrapped a wiry, gloved hand around one of Jet's, intertwining their fingers.

"...Take care...my little Smellerbee..."

He snorted, finally managed to give her his characteristic smirk - and lay still.

"...Jet...?"

Smellerbee felt her eyes grow wide, and her vision doubled; drawing sharp, uneven breaths, she twisted her head sideways and leaned in close to his face, hoping to feel his own breath whispering against her cheek, but nothing - nothing, nothing came, and he didn't speak, didn't move, didn't laugh, didn't teach, didn't dance amongst Fire Nation troops with his swords flickering around him like lightning bugs in the pale moonlight...

"No...no, no, no..." Jet's fingers no longer clung to hers; she released his hand and clenched her fists, slamming them hard into the ground beside her, the stone dull and cold and it hurt, kinda, but far away - distant. Emotion rushed over her, drowning her - hot, wet, empty, a raging storm at sea that pummeled her and threatened to drag her down to the very depths of the ocean. Her cries became screams, and the graceful, tough, immovable Smellerbee crumbled.

She grabbed his shirt, sniffling, sobbing, cursing, buried her face in his hair, taking in his scent - she could smell must, had to've been from staying down here, the sea from their trip on the ferry to Ba Sing Se...the forest, cinnamon and honey and syrup and hickory and _home_, so far away, so long ago, orange and gold and red leaves draped over them, flowing off of the tree branches from which they kept watch, waiting for the unsuspecting Fire Nation caravan to drive by...

Heaving, she needed to hurl, and, and her throat _burned_, hard to breathe, and Jet was _gone_. Wet and sticky splattered against the cold tile, gagging, she kept going until she _felt_ empty, both physically and mentally, exhausted, tired...but...

Smellerbee. The Dai Li were coming back.

"Wha..." She felt her breath hitch again, and she shook her head, who was, who...

Bee, _hold it together_. He didn't want to do what came next without her.

The swordswoman turned away, away from Jet, from the sick plastered to the ground, and - Longshot. He stood with his bow at the ready and an arrow drawn taut in the string, aimed at the only remaining entrance into the room. The way his nostrils flared, his eyes wrinkled in the corners...how his lips curled down, just the _tiniest_ bit...

It hurt, he knew, but there wasn't any other way out. His eyes flicked towards Smellerbee for a moment before returning to his anticipated target. It wasn't the Freedom Fighters' style to lie down and die so easily. She knew that.

"But - Jet - " Smellerbee gnashed her teeth and growled. "Longshot, stop being so cold! Jet's - "

Before she could continue, the sound of echoing footsteps caught her ears, and suddenly the world became sharp and clear again. Six people, coming closer - walking, as if they had nothing to concern themselves with. Like all they were coming here to do was remove corpses from the room and nothing more.

Take that pain, take it and _use_ it. Longshot's brow furrowed as he sidled away from line-of-sight to the entrance the Dai Li would surely use. Just like when fighting the Fire Nation. Turn the pain into rage, capitalize on Jet's loss because the Dai Li weren't just foot soldiers, they weren't the mook patrol, and without Jet or Aang or anyone, six could _very realistically_ slaughter them.

Smellerbee drew a sharp, cold breath, before narrowing her eyes and reaching down to the dagger sheathed at the small of her back. She pushed up from the floor and oh moving away from Jet, it felt _wrong_, but Longshot was telling the truth and she knew it and rolling over for these murdering bastards was akin to spitting in the face of Jet's death, and of everything he had taught them in life. She pushed herself to her feet, boot scraping against the stone, and drew the dagger with a flash of dull, jade light. Right. Okay. She took a slow, steady breath and moved opposite from Longshot, so they flanked the only way in and out of the room. If she had to go down, she'd go down swinging.

The swordswoman turned her attention to Jet, still lying on the floor, eyes aimed up at the dim, damp ceiling overhead, yet perceiving nothing. He, it wasn't _right_ that he lay there, he couldn't be gone, he was too bright and passionate and charismatic for that sort of thing, and looking at him - she still kinda _did_ expect him to pop back up, because there wasn't an possible way such a vivid, real person could just _stop_. It was Long Feng's fault, the man leading the Dai Li - the same men who came towards them with all intent of seeing anyone left behind dead. They did this, they stole a star from the sky, and, and as the burning sensation rose up to her throat again, she seized it, claimed it for her own, and felt bubbling, unyielding fury swelling up beneath her skin, rushing through her body. Familiar. Part of her life. Part of her style.

She had no problem with making these monsters scream for their lives, and heaven help her, she would _enjoy_ it.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot had exceptionally keen hearing.

As an archer, it was a necessity, and while most of it came from training and experience, he liked giving at least partial credit to the size of his ears. Big and round and awkward, they'd embarrass the hell out of most teens, but they couldn't be more important to Longshot. They helped him pick out Fire Nation troops hiding out of sight, or enemy archers lurking in trees, waiting to strike at his friends...and it put a damper on any Freedom Fighters from trying to sneak up on him. Only Smellerbee had the grace to stay undetected and pounce on him. Sometimes. Those had been fun times, but - distant, now. With the trees and the laughing orphans and where death was...well, it had been there, too. But death at the forest had been natural recourse, sometimes it just happened - it was part of the lifestyle. It had been something to deal with on their own terms. Never in a foreign place, and certainly _not_ at the hands of another native of the Earth Kingdom.

His hearing was a gift, and without it he may as well not have thumbs; a deaf archer was a crippled archer. But by the same token, sometimes he heard _too_ much, or things he'd rather not have heard to begin with. The approaching footsteps, six sets, calm and professional and muted; Jet speaking, his last words, so _painful_, but if Smellerbee would lose focus here then he'd turn his emotions away for her sake. It wasn't like he didn't understand how she felt, because he _did_. Losing loved ones was what drove Longshot to silence in the first place, but if he needed to be the strong one, if this situation necessitated him to be cold-hearted, then so be it.

Internalizing that thought left him feeling off-kilter, because it drifted precariously close to nihilism, of which he wasn't by nature, but living the life of a Freedom Fighter meant sacrifice. It wasn't an unusual problem to face.

Even over the constant flow of water from all sides of the room - massive, round pipes draining their contents into a deep crevice on either side of the room, one Longshot had not been able to judge its depth - he could tell that they were close. Another couple seconds, and the Dai Li would round the corner. From there, it'd just be a matter of hitting them as hard and fast as possible; maybe, _maybe_, the pair would be able to move past this room. They might be able to escape, to survive.

Maybe.

Suddenly - nothing. A red flag shot straight up into the air in Longshot's mind as the footsteps came to a halt before the Dai Li even reached the door; he glanced over to Smellerbee, whose eyes had gone wide, a frown pulling down on her mouth. She knew, too, and the pair jumped back, away from the entrance, just as a pair of rock walls erupted from the ground on which they'd been standing moments before.

Dammit - they'd _expected_ them. The room trembled, shaking beneath their feet, and with a low grinding noise, two more entrances opened up from the sides of the room, a pair Dai Li spilling out of each. As Longshot worked to clear his head, to be the backbone Smellerbee needed, old memories started to rear up as the newer layers got peeled away, and _this was not an appropriate time for it_. The archer had been the first; he and Jet had known each other for years, now, before there even was a "Freedom Fighters" to be a part of. While there had been _some_ communication errors along the way, he'd mostly understood Longshot's unspoken language. He'd picked up early on that the archer didn't like it when people talked just for the sake of filling silence, so he didn't always need to say things. They genuinely enjoyed each others' company, and _focus_, Longshot, don't drift off now!

He'd been running, not even realizing it from struggling to keep everything in balance. Come on, what good was his advice to Smellerbee if he wouldn't capitalize on it himself? He was letting himself fall apart. The Dai Li swarmed, the four that had come from the sides of the room rushing around the pair of Freedom Fighters, emerald and ochre robes flowing. The six from the main entrance surged in as well, and Longshot tightened the muscles in his shoulders, clenching his teeth; six would probably have been able to do in the two Freedom Fighters, but ten was overkill - maybe they'd anticipated the Avatar and his friends would still be here? Oh, it didn't _matter_ at this point!

Longshot took careful aim, lining up his arrow as he moved, his legs jarring against the stone floor; one of the Dai Li came to a stop as he planted one foot forward and thrust a fist at him, shooting a stone spire up from the ground. The archer backpedaled and unleashed his arrow at him, a sharp _twang!_ rattling from next to Longshot's ear as the string snapped back into place. He didn't even wait for the arrow to connect before drawing another; his target stepped back and pushed a wall up from the ground, a knee-jerk reaction, but it left him wide open, and another arrow pierced the air -

A coal missile - one of the Dai Li's gloves - soared into the arrow's path, knocked it askew and exploding in the process. Longshot pushed down the urge to curse, the air already tight and hot around him even through this place was so dank and musty and damp. Each breath careful, timed, because timing was important too, he nocked another arrow, caught a flash of green movement to the side, released, _yes_! The arrow lodged into the Earthbender's ankle, sending him stumbling forward.

Smellerbee charged past him as he reached for another arrow, crouching low to the ground with her dagger in hand; she pulled a narrow arc around one of the Dai Li, slashing him and withdrawing before he could counterattack; an earth pillar erupted into the ground at her heels, and Longshot saw her stumble just the slightest bit. She recovered, and was gone just as quickly, juking between Dai Li and their attacks. Longshot felt his chest tighten at the sight, because, because Smellerbee was as much his best friend as Jet had been, and as sweat turned his forehead slick and sticky, he nocked two more arrows and buckled down his resolve.

Okay, Longshot. Time to throw everything into it.

One of the Dai Li leapt into the air, landing on a swelling pile of crumbled rock, riding it like a surfing Waterbender. He closed the distance between himself and Longshot almost too suddenly, and the archer released his arrows; the Earthbender swatted one away, but the other impacted his shoulder, sending him rolling back, his stone wave collapsing in on itself with a spray of dust and pebbles. Why couldn't Longshot land anything _fatal_? He drew another arrow, intending to finish the one he'd just downed, but before he could, something solid and _hard_ hit him, and he spun, landing in a heap on the ground, the world alight with brilliant shapes. His cheek throbbed, hot and sticky and tight; he worked his jaw, felt the hinge creak, and -

- another blow, this time from below him, and a grunt escaped his lips (_maybe? Hard to tell_), landing hard on his side, rolling, and then, _no support_ from below - he whipped his free hand out and managed to catch the corner of the floor, the massive sluice dropping away beneath him. He glanced downward into the yawning chasm below, and the dim, glowing light the illuminating crystals cast did not reach any perceivable bottom.

So _that's_ how deep the thing ran. He swallowed back a jitter that threatened to rise up into his throat; he'd spent his entire life growing up and living in tree houses, so it wasn't like heights scared him...but this, _this_ was an exception, because he couldn't tell what laid down there in wait for him - and he knew, no matter what it was, he wouldn't be able to climb out. The walls were too slick and he didn't have any rope to tie to an arrow.

The familiar beige crescent in the top half of his vision had vanished, and through the haze Longshot realized he couldn't feel the knotted fabric beneath his chin. Hat had been knocked loose. He still had his bow, at least; he tightened his grip around it, raised his head, and kicked against the slick stone, hoisting himself up over the edge and into a crouch. Solid ground had never felt so good - and there, three more Dai Li rushing at him, their heads bowed so their conical helmets protected their heads. That was okay, though, all the archer needed was a good shot at their shoulders or ankles, and he reached back, grabbed an arrow, nocked it -

The bowstring yielded too much. Eyes going wide, Longshot glanced down to see that the lower limb of his precious weapon had splintered and was on the verge of snapping clean off. Defenseless now - he hadn't even done that much, but then again, the Dai Li _were_ good, and the first six would have probably done the two Freedom Fighters in anyway. Nothing to do but run, run and use what he had left. Chest tight, lungs and throat burning, he crouched down low and sprinted across the cool stone, legs and heart hammering, the ground slick with every sopping step he took. The Dai Li altered their course and he saw one of them thrust his arms out; a slab of rock burst out from the ground, missing him by inches, the vibrations rocking his feet and ankles.

He whirled around, hurling his bow at his pursuers; it spun through the air and connected with one of the Dai Li's helmets, rebounding off with a dull _clang!_. The Earthbender jerked back instinctively, left himself open - _yes!_ - he drew another arrow and whipped it at the monster, it didn't have the same power, but it was enough, it lodged in the man's throat and sent him sprawling backwards.

_Finally_, a good hit - unarmed, no less. But that had been one of his two trump cards; the downside to a surprise attack was that it was only a surprise once.

The remaining two Dai Li tightened their pace, splitting apart from each other; one weaved around to the archer's left side, and from the corner of his eyes, he saw the Earthbender line himself up against the nearest wall. Longshot grunted, unslinging his quiver in one swift motion; just a few minutes ago (_though it felt like an age, years at this point because there had been a Jet in his life_) he'd seen other Dai Li do the same trick the one near the wall was going to pull. Just wait for it, wait for it - keep your eyes on the other guy too, Longshot - and the Earthbender jumped, pushing up onto the wall and running along it, and it was _perfect_! Longshot spun around and snapped the quiver and his remaining arrows at him, catching his ankles and sending him sprawling to the ground.

Okay, one left and that was it, Longshot twisted to face him, and they might actually come out of this alive -

A rock the size of a fist slammed into his chin, sending the archer reeling, pain exploding all along his jaw, in his teeth, his tongue as he bit down on it - he fell backwards again, and, and (_get up, damn you_), but his limbs wouldn't work, they tingled and prickled but he couldn't get them to _move_. Couldn't do anything now, _really_ defenseless this time, and, and something lifting him by the collar of his tunic. He couldn't fight back, he couldn't...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

They were just emerald blurs at this point - Smellerbee didn't need to distinguish them any further than that. She _knew_ they were there and she knew that they were - well, not _human_, because that would indicate they knew more than the dystopian society Long Feng had constructed. Regardless, they were alive, and living beings bled, and she _thirsted_ for that blood, the hot, warm, sticky, crimson life fluid, she would take it from them like they had taken it from Jet, she _would_. As she juked and weaved between the Dai Li, moving too fast for them to pin down and attack, she sliced the air with her curved dagger, a gift, a _precious_ gift, or close to it. Her first stolen blade, her first field mission with Jet and Longshot. She'd got it from someone sneaking around in the bushes, planning on stabbing Jet with it while his back was turned, but Smellerbee shown the bastard, shown him and _killed_ him, and though the dagger hadn't been a gift from anyone in particular, it had been a gift in principal.

She'd saved Jet's life more than once with this knife; she'd used a lot of other swords, too, but this knife was the longest-lasting, and she would use it to kill the Dai Li just as she'd killed that bandit. She _would_.

The air thick with the scents of dirt and moldy water, the room dimly lit with glowing crystals the color of limes, Smellerbee's breath came out hot and ragged and angry and she could have breathed fire if she really wanted, she didn't even really register what was going on - just that if there was motion near her, she lashed out. While they couldn't get a fix on her, they were pretty fast too - she couldn't get a good hit in on any of them, just nipping their flowing robes, catching on the fabric for a moment before momentum tore knife and cloth apart. It was a swordsdance, except the Dai Li didn't have any swords and through the haze of bloodlust, that irritated her because it'd be so much more poetic if she could steal them and cut down their former owners. But they didn't, they relied on their magic rocks, and that was okay, even as spires and columns and walls erupted from the ground, she weaved and dodged around whatever they threw at her, she had too much experience with this sort of thing to get caught by traps like that.

(_Okay, so she wasn't perfect, Sokka had lured her and Pipsqueak into those poacher traps, but that was a fluke - right?_)

The ground trembled beneath her feet with every step, mostly because of the Earthbending, reverberating up her ankles and knees, and, and _dammit_, she slashed out at a Dai Li that had ventured too close, missed. They were stalemated, however many of the assholes had decided to gang up on her versus just one Smellerbee. It'd become a battle of attrition. They all had limited stamina, but she only had Longshot to fall back on if she got exhausted, and he was out there somewhere fighting his own tangle of enemies; if one of the Dai Li tired, there were others to take his place, and unless Smellerbee could find an opening, capitalize on it...

Sweat soaked her headband, her face and ears flushed hot, her throat burning. Through the corner of her eyes she saw one of the Dai Li thrust his fists out at her from a distance, his earth-brick gloves soaring at her; she dropped down to the ground, felt a cool backdraft as they soared overhead, blowing back her hair - and then, a solid crunch, followed by an audible grunt, and the heavy sound of a body crumpling to the floor. He'd hit one of his comrades! Not as good as killing a man with his own sword, but good enough, and it caught the offending Dai Li off-guard enough where she could rush behind him. One quick snap of the wrist, and her knife finally drew first blood, slicing through the tendons in the back of his knees, and he fell forwards, and, and, finally, things might be turning around -

Another rock spire jutted up from the floor, catching her heel; she stumbled forward, off-balance, landing hard on her shoulder. The rough floor dug into her sleeve, searing the skin beneath it, and she crashed shoulder blades-first into a wall with a grunt. Come on, get up and move or else they'll kill you before you can do more damage to them, and she shoved herself to her feet despite her upper body being alight with pain, and the Dai Li were already coming at her, and -

Something glistened from the corner of her eyes, something long and shimmering and curved in the dull cavern's light. She didn't need to question its presence, she'd seen it stuck in the wall as soon as they'd come in here - one of Jet's swords, the razor-diamond pommel embedded in the stone. She thrust an arm out, wrapping her fingers tightly around the leather grip - still, still _warm_, Jet had only been holding them a few minutes ago - and she pulled, dislodging it from the wall with a spray of dust and pebbles. Cheeks tingling, a snarl tore her face in half; this more than made up for not being able to kill them with their own weapons. The sword's grip was a little too big for her hand, and in the back of her head, behind the fury and rage and bloodlust, a sense of symbolism chimed - but she pushed it away, because it was time to yield to the inner fire, to rend flesh and sunder muscle, maybe even break a bone or two if she was lucky.

She had already started moving, hadn't even realized it; bending her knees, keeping low to the ground, every step a crack of thunder, she hurtled at the nearest Dai Li in an arc, swerving every time a pillar of earth shot up from the ground, or a free flying rock had been chucked her way. They had no chance in hell of hitting her now, and her throat burned, hoarse and raw and it dawned on her that she'd started screaming, an unintelligible roar, ferocious and bestial and just as lethal as the blades she held in her hands -

One of the Dai Li had come into range; she had gotten so close to him that he could only react instinctively, swinging a fist down at her. She dropped down beneath it, swung around, and slashed with Jet's sword. It wasn't a clean cut, the hook caught on the fabric of his robes and dug partway into his calf; he went down, but the sword went with him. Smellerbee tried to wrench the blade free, but another Dai Li must'a seen that she was vulnerable; he hurled his rock gloves at her, and she crouched down again. It clipped her dagger, though - and suddenly, it was torn from her grasp, her palm and thumb echoing dull pain. All that was left was Jet's sword, and it _wouldn't come free_ -

Something, something _hard_ hit her stomach, a bright white light flashed before her eyes - and she was on the ground, on her back, the stone cold and grainy, her vision swimming. They'd blindsided her, took advantage of her while off her guard. She'd been so _stupid_, refusing to let go of Jet's sword, clinging to it like it could have helped her. She'd only ever held them once before, when she was still young, and the grips were _still_ too big...and, and, hard to focus, the swords were _Jet's_, she should have held onto them regardless, they were more important than anything now because they had legacy, because...

One of the Dai Li grabbed her, hoisted her up, but it was so hard to tell what was going on - they'd hit her hard, fire rippling in her abdomen. She coughed, a rough, burning sensation tearing up her throat, and - oh, oh this was the _end_, wasn't it? They hadn't done much damage at all, the Dai Li had managed to take them down, and Jet was, Jet was still...

They bound her hands behind her with their gloves - bricks of coal, rough and rounded, cinched tight around her wrists, and pushed her back onto the ground. The stone pressed into her cheek, and after a moment, Longshot landed beside her, his jaw clenched and his eyes tightened. Smellerbee felt her jaw drop - they'd both been caught. Looking at him, _seeing_ him like this...

Suddenly, she regretted not trying to get out alive. He understood and nodded in return; his gaze flickered away for a second before he let his eyes slide shut. It hadn't been a very smart move, had it...?

"No," she murmured, a bittersweet grin twisting to life on her face. "It wasn't."

"Long Feng wants these tunnels collapsed."

Smellerbee craned her neck up; one of the Dai Li moved into her line of vision, standing before the two downed Freedom Fighters, his hands folded into his broad sleeves, his helmet a great dome cast against the pipe-riddled walls. "Now that the Avatar has secured his bison, we have nothing to keep them in check. They _will_ go to the Earth King. Long Feng has ordered this base destroyed in the event they decide to come back and use this as proof of our true purpose."

The swordswoman felt a growl rumble up into her throat; she managed to slide her knees beneath her, and with a grunt, threw herself upright. She glared at the Dai Li agent from the floor, panting, breath hot and sore. "What, is that it? You're just gonna pretend like none of this ever happened?"

The Earthbender hiked a brow and cast a cold glance down at the Freedom Fighter, his eyes flickering for a moment before becoming impermeable. "That's the general idea, yes."

She inhaled and realized that her chest had tightened, and her jaw worked so furiously that she felt her teeth crack, heard the joint creaking. "Don't you realize what you're _leaving_ down here? Your leader killed our leader - and Jet was a thousand times of a man any of you, especially Long Feng, could ever hope to be! He fought proudly for his country, and you, you _assholes_ stand here, acting as if that didn't amount to _anything_! Aren't there things more important to you than Long Feng's agenda? Are you even _human_ under those robes?" And, and her vision blurred, and - shit, she'd lost control again, she couldn't keep the tears from trickling down her cheeks. Her abdomen tingled, her lungs alight with vengeful fire, every breath a burst of invisible flame, deep and searing and, and - she screamed again, threw herself up to her feet, sprinted at the Dai Li agent - shoulder-checked him in the gut, sent him reeling, and he had it _coming_, how _dare_ he even _think_ of burying them alive, that wasn't a warrior's death, and it did Jet no justice, it didn't, it, it, it -

A large, tan hand grabbed her by the tunic and threw her back to the ground, landing hard on her shoulder, next to Longshot again - but she could barely see him, her gaze had gone red and blurry and she would _kill_ them, she...

Coughing, the Dai Li she'd tackled regained his balance and cursed. "Take these two down to the prison cells in the center of the base - I don't want any more to do with them. For their crimes against the state of Ba Sing Se and murdering Dai Li agents, let them starve to death in the bowels of this place."

"_**MURDER?**_" Smellerbee roared, her voice catching. She thrashed, but another set of hands clamped down on her ankles, binding them with the coal gloves. "You don't know _anything_! You - "

_Stop._

The swordswoman squeezed her eyelids shut and clenched her jaw, Longshot's thoughts piercing her own like one of his arrows to a bulls-eye. They'd made the mistake of going into this fight with a death wish; now they at least had a chance to correct that mistake, because the Dai Li would leave them alive.

Right. Longshot was right, and she had to curl her head into her chest and draw a deep, shuddering breath to keep control of herself. It - it wasn't _easy_, because Jet was in the same room, cold and empty and not Jet anymore, not...

The Dai Li hoisted both Freedom Fighters to their feet, the rocks shackling her ankles peeling back so she could walk. As they were marched away, their footsteps dim and dull and far away, mingling with the sloshing of the water pouring from the pipes, Smellerbee caught a glimpse of _his_ body, prone with his arms at his sides...he looked almost peaceful from here, like he'd decided to take a nap. But he wasn't, he was gone, gone from them in spirit and soon in body because it wasn't like the Dai Li would let them take it with them. Thinking of Jet as an "it" instead of a "him" was just another punch to the gut; she clamped her teeth down on her lower lip to keep from screaming, screaming his name, slamming the heartless bastards ushering them away with a typhoon of curses that would have made Skillet blush...

They passed through the archway that Long Feng had disappeared through after murdering Jet, that the Dai Li had approached them from, the light growing dimmer with fewer crystals to light their way; from behind, a dull rumbling began to echo, growing louder, a racket, a din, _unbearable_, rock and stone collapsing in on itself, grating and crashing, rattling Smellerbee with every step, jolting up through her legs, into her torso, and, and _Goddammit_, Jet was still in there, Jet was...

With a deafening thunderclap, any light filtering in from behind vanished, leaving the two Freedom Fighters and their captives alone in a gently sloping corridor. The impact jarred her, bounced her off the ground, and Jet was really _gone_ now.

Stupid Smellerbee. Stupid Longshot. Stupid Jet.

Smellerbee stole a quick glance over to Longshot; the archer met her gaze and nodded, the same thought running through their minds.

It had been stupid going into this, thinking that it hadn't been a battle for survival.


	2. Book 1, Chapter 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 1: A Fight for Survival**

**Chapter 2: The Creed: "Food is food"**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-1-2-126521208

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

"Starvation...what a dumb way to go."

Smellerbee laughed - a high, giddy, mad sound, one which made Longshot wince. He could make out the scrawny Freedom Fighter against the pale, green light - a single glowing, lime-green crystal had survived the collapse of the tunnel on either side of their cells, but it flickered now and then. Longshot needed to have great eyesight, acute enough to rival the Fire Nation's Yuu Yan, and right now his eyes were telling him that their light source diminished over time. It wouldn't be long before he and Smellerbee became engulfed in complete darkness, an inky black wax seal on their fate.

"You - you know something, Longshot?" Bee continued, her voice cracking on his name. "We should have fought harder. We should have given them no other choice but to kill us. None of this...torture garbage."

Longshot fixed Smellerbee with a solemn gaze, and he saw the girl scrutinizing him through the dimming light - her eyes, while hardly dull, weren't as sharp as Longshot's and she was already having trouble seeing through the murk. She wasn't giving up, was she...? Come on - there _had_ to be a way out of this. They just needed to find it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She gave a sheepish laugh, hanging and shaking her head. "I'm trying to come up with a plan. I just can't seem to latch onto anything that'd work. Jet would have an idea by now..."

Longshot dipped his head down in a motion that substituted for a shrug. Neither of them were Jet, though. They didn't have him to fall back on this time.

Smellerbee sighed in response. "I know...I'm tryin' really hard. And it's frustrating. The whole _thing_."

After the fight, the Dai Li had escorted them down, down, into the belly of what remained of their base. They had collapsed most of this room; it had originally been a long corridor with several jail cells lining their walls, each one blocked off by iron bars. After throwing the two Freedom Fighters into opposite rooms, they bound their wrists in shackles that had been chained to the walls. There was enough give in the chains for Longshot to move them comfortably, but he had to stick close to the wall either way. After the Dai Li left, they collapsed the corridor, leaving just their two cells intact, walls of crumbled stone on either side.

Smellerbee had estimated the distance they'd traveled from that room - the one where Jet had died. With the entrance to the catacombs undoubtedly destroyed as the rest of the base had been, Toph, the Avatar's blind Earthbending friend, would probably not be able to sense them at this distance if the group coerced the Earth King to follow them, as that Dai Li agent had said. The only way the Avatar's group could possibly find them was if Katara actually parted the lake water and performed a very thorough search of the bed...but Longshot doubted the Earth King would let them go that far without the entrance to serve as proof, unless the he was a very patient man.

The archer didn't get his hopes up.

Besides, that was all assuming Aang could gain audience with His Majesty the King in the first place. Longshot snorted; he held a small level of contempt for the Earth King, even having never met with the man. He was a political tool and probably didn't even know he was being used by Long Feng.

To add insult to injury, to make sure the Freedom Fighters died a slow death, their Dai Li escorts had worked together to carve them an air hole; a small square gap that, if the group of secret police were to be believed, wound beneath the lakebed before twisting upward and opening between a small cluster of rocks far away from the lake's shore. The area in question was presumably surrounded by very poisonous cacti, and people avoided it in order to also avoid taking a fatal sting.

Neither Freedom Fighter had any way of telling how much time had passed, but Longshot estimated it had been about one day - give or take a few hours. Already his stomach rumbled, growling for something to eat, but neither he nor Smellerbee were any stranger to hunger. Longshot only ever remembered full meals with the rest of the Freedom Fighters - Jet and Pipsqueak and The Duke and Sneers and Skillet and all the countless others. The thing about that, though, was that a good dinner was never guaranteed; it all depended on how successful a hunt went, and how well supplied their recently-raided Fire Nation caravans were. There had been several periods of time where there hadn't been much more to eat than stale bread...and then there was that winter, seasons ago, where they barely had even that.

To any Freedom Fighter, going hungry wasn't an unfamiliar sensation - even here in Ba Sing Se, where they barely made enough to keep up with rent. He crooked his head, allowing him a small smirk. No, he'd gone much longer than this without food, and he could go even longer still.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Seven Years Ago_

Mute plucked through the garbage, pinching the most disgusting things between the thumb and forefinger on his left hand, setting them gently to the side lest they burst from rot. His once-white tunic and pants were already filthy enough with stains and the petulant odor of other peoples' trash permeating the fabric, and the last thing he wanted was the remains of an elephant rat splattered against his leg. Ugh. This wasn't any way for a human being to eat. If it weren't for the other orphans he'd seen rooting through similar piles of crap around the city, he'd have been lead to believe that he was the only one with this misfortune. Even with that knowledge, it still felt like this was a punishment reserved for him exclusively.

He was careful to search only for those things that were vaguely edible; the gurgling in his stomach hadn't been sated for days now, but it felt more like an eternity at this point. The shadows of his old life hadn't been cast just yet; he wouldn't lower himself to eating something too far gone, that was for somebody in a lesser position, for a child who had not been born into noble blood. Regardless of the ends - living on the streets and scavenging for his next meal - he was better than the others, darn it, and he wouldn't settle for just any old scrap of food.

"You're too picky," a youthful voice chided from behind him. "You won't find any good food in there...if people throw it out, it's usually because it's already spoiled. Or it's been half-eaten."

Mute bristled at the sound; he whirled around to face another young boy with tan skin and shaggy, dust-brown hair that went down past his shoulders. Because of that outrageous, unkempt peasant mop of his, the young scavenger had taken to calling this person Mop-Head behind the shelter of his eyes, where he wouldn't be able to hear.

Mop-Head - he had a real name, but Mute couldn't remember it - crossed his arms over his chest and grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He wore a dirty, brown shirt that could barely be called proper clothing; it looked more like a burlap sack that Mop-Head had torn holes in for his head and arms, going down past his waist. Stained, sooty pants covered his legs, leaving only his feet bare against the rough dirt alley running between huts.

"Of course, you probably wouldn't know that," Mop-Head shot, a lopsided grin pulling up on his lips. "You were born into an easy life - couldn't be more obvious, the way you pick at that stuff. It ain't so simple here. You're gonna have to adjust, Mute."

Almost in compliment to the nickname the young scavenger had assigned to this roguish, tan-skinned boy, Mop-Head had given him the name "Mute," a title he neither protested nor disagreed with. After all, it wasn't like he could just impart his own name...the words would be too heavy and tainted for someone as frivolous as Mop-Head to appreciate. He didn't deserve to know it.

Mop-Head sidled up beside Mute and pointed at the garbage. "You can certainly eat some'a this slop if you gotta...it's not exactly a feast, but it's better than nothing." The boy crouched down on his haunches and pulled away at some of the trash, not hesitating to bury his hands into it all the way into the wrist so he could more efficiently hunt down a scrap of food. Mute shuddered and winced; how could this kid get so...so _personal_ with other peoples' discarded filth? Didn't he know what kind of disease lurked in the heap?

A few seconds and a triumphant "Ah!" later, Mop-Head withdrew an apple - mostly eaten, the remaining skin riddled with pockmarks, the exposed innards turned brown and mushy. "I love apples," Mop-Head explained, turning around to face Mute again. He held the apple sideways and bit into it; Mute made an audible gagging noise and stuck his tongue out. He had to turn away when Mop-Head began chewing with his mouth open, revealing chunks of red and brown and _gross_. "May be rotten, but it's still kinda sweet. Almost."

This time Mute was the one to cross his hands over his chest, and he twisted his head to the side; he put on an indignant frown, closing his eyes. Mop-Head was _nuts_ if he thought Mute would dig into the pile of rotten food and trash so willingly.

"Sure, sure...at least my tummy's full." Mop-Head chuckled, his voice slightly muffled by the apple. He began to twist the remains in his hand and picked away at any scraps large enough to be eaten, finally tossing the core back on top of the junk heap. "Look, you've been here for a week and you've eaten less than you've spoken, and you haven't said a damn thing. You can't keep going on like this."

The silent boy didn't respond to this; it was better to keep his silence (so to speak), because, if habit were to be believed, Mop-Head would only aggravate the matter.

If only Mute were so lucky; instead of chastising him, goading him into throwing his standards away, Mop-Head sighed and placed a sticky hand on his shoulder, causing the younger boy to jump back and throw his arms up in the air. Mop-Head withdrew his hand and shook his head.

"Look." His voice took on an unusually firm tone, making Mute blink. "I like you. You don't hit me like the adults in this town, and you don't avoid me like the kids. If you aren't gonna eat anything from here - " Another finger aimed at the garbage pile. " - which is the only food we can steal without getting into trouble...then I guess it's time to go after the stuff that will."

Mute craned his head sideways, eyes narrowing - trying to figure out what had changed in his companion's attitude. The pieces to the puzzle eluded him, and he gave a slow shrug. Well, if it wasn't rotten and disgusting, it was worth a try...

"Okay then. Obviously, you won't be a good distraction...you don't talk." Mop-Head dropped his voice low, causing Mute to lean in closer so he could listen. "Think you can steal some fruit without being seen?"

Wait - this shaggy-headed kid was actually willing to _help_ him...? That was a shock; it wasn't like Mop-Head was a jerk, he'd actually gone out of his way to be nice to Mute where the other orphans around here had shunned him...just that, the pair didn't _know_ each other that well. Mute hadn't told Mop-Head where he'd come from and why he was in this dusty, nameless town, and he never explained why he didn't speak. But the way Mop-Head acted, the way he'd been treating the younger, pale-skinned boy...it was almost like he _knew_.

Plus, he never assumed Mute couldn't speak - he was the first to root out the fact that he _chose_ not to. He'd even said it himself: _"You don't talk."_ Everyone else he'd encountered here - since he ran from his home, from the heat and the burns and the screaming - mocked him, accusing him of being too simple to know how to verbalize. Well, to heck with them; Mop-Head had stuck by Mute for the last week straight, and now he was gonna stick his neck out so Mute could eat something that hadn't been part of someone else's meal first. A grin split the silent boy's face, wide enough to match the severity of the rumbling in his tummy.

Maybe it _wasn't_ such a surprise. The way Mop-Head treated him...it said something about the kid's character. So, they may as well go for it.

Mop-Head nodded, picking up Mute's response as clearly as if it had been said aloud.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"There. That one. The one that looks like his face is eating his eyes and mouth."

Mop-Head directed his gaze at a stooped old man, his skin tanned and covered in dark spots. He wore robes and a tunic that looked older than he was, red and maroon and crimson all faded as to have a touch of dust-brown. Beside the man, their prize - a cart full of round, red apples, skins shining in the midday summer light. Just looking at them made Mute's mouth water.

Mute knew Mop-Head referred to this particular vendor, but he didn't understand the part about face-eating; sure, the man was old and wrinkled, but the outlines of his eyes and mouth were still clearly visible against the drapery of his skin. He simply shrugged and stuck to Mop-Head's side as they peered out between two buildings.

It was gonna be dangerous; this being the only apple stand in town, their heist would have to take place in the town's market. The stand sat directly against another building on the opposite side of the plaza from where the two boys watched, and there were plenty of other people milling about - customers buying their weekly groceries, other shop keeps peddling their wares...and Fire Nation soldiers. The latter group didn't look to be on any sort of patrol or guard duty - they just walked through the plaza, chatting with each other. One of them must have said something funny, because his comrades started laughing; that was...odd. Could Fire Nation people actually _laugh_ like their victims once did?

The sight of the red and black armor, the skull-like helmets, made Mute pause; these people were dangerous, laughing or not, and he knew firsthand the damage Firebenders were capable of rendering. So large and monstrous, their appearance made Mute shiver, threatened to liquefy his resolve. It almost made the prize not worth having to cross paths with them again...

...but then, his tummy growled again, reminding him that anything would be better than becoming a garbage gourmet.

"Those Fire Nation troops will try to stop us if we get caught," Mop-Head murmured, his eyes narrowing as he cast his gaze outward, sweeping the area. "This far away from the front, they'll be bored without any action...so be really careful. Take only what you think you can get away with and no more, okay?"

Mute only nodded, his brow furrowed; this had gotten a lot riskier with those guys hanging around. He tried to mask his concern, but Mop-Head seemed to pick up on it even though he wasn't looking at the younger boy.

"You're worried."

Mute nodded.

"We can try another place, you know. Somewhere less dangerous...but this is the only one with apples. Not to mention the stall owner's a sympathizer."

A sympathizer...? What did that mean?

Mop-Head scowled in the old man's direction, the venom in his eyes unmasked and lethal. "He agrees with what the Fire Nation's doing. He deserves to get robbed."

Mute drew a low, deep breath. Mop-Head changed moods so fast that it was almost hard to keep up, but despite his extremist point of view, Mute couldn't really disagree. He set his mouth into a straight line and nodded again.

"Okay. Here's the plan: you cut around so you're on the opposite side of the stall from the old man." Mop-Head stood upright. "I'll work my way over to him and keep him occupied. The alleys running behind the shops here are out of plain sight; the Fire Nation never goes there."

That sounded like a good idea. He touched Mop-Head on the shoulder before turning, delving into the darkened back roads that awaited him.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

It took a few minutes to get across to the opposite side of the plaza; the alleys were spooky and dank and smelled of old hay and dust. They were littered with all sorts of detritus, like broken brooms, empty barrels, and shattered jars that carried lingering fumes of various origins. He had to pick his way through the alley carefully, because it'd be only too easy to step on something sharp and put a premature and very anti-climactic end to this daring mission.

Arriving to the opposite side of the plaza without incident, Mute crouched down beside a building, the stone cool and rough beneath his palms. The apple cart loomed tantalizingly close, just around the corner of his hiding spot; if he leaned out of the alley and reached far enough, he could have touched one of the apples, red and shining and they would be _so_ smooth.

Through the throng of people, he caught a glimpse of Mop-Head, still standing beside the same building as before. The silent child nodded in his companion's direction; he was ready, and he'd start to move as soon as Mop-Head did. The older boy narrowed his eyes and grinned, pushing away from the building and diving into the crowd.

Weaving and dancing through the people, Mop-Head began to dash - smiling, laughing, as if playing a game of shadow thief with invisible friends. Mute allowed himself a small grin. A few clever zigzags later, and Mop-Head found himself aimed right for the old merchant's stall; he glanced over his shoulder, mocking the other "children" following behind him, before running full force into the side of it. It teetered for a moment, the wooden legs creaking, before toppling over, the resounding crash echoing through the plaza. The apples in the cart spilled over onto the ground, creating a low rumbling noise that was not unlike an earthquake.

As Mop-Head had anticipated, the ruckus drew the attention of everyone nearby; so even though one of the delicious apples bounced into the alley which Mute had taken shelter, the young boy remained still, pressed up against the wall in the shadows. Wait for the right moment to move.

"Hey - what's the big idea, kid?" The merchant's voice sounded like a sheet of sandpaper scraping along a metal pipe, and it made Mute wince. "Whadderya doin', runnin' around without lookin' where yer goin'?

"Ahh - " Mop-Head scrambled up to his feet and took a quick glance left and right, looking for his "friends," and maybe a chance to escape. The illusion was furthered by the surrounding people with their eyes pasted on him, and a nervous mewling noise escaped his lips. He pressed his arms to his sides and lowered his head, eyes squinched shut. "I'm sorry, mister! It - it was an accident. I'm really sorry!"

Mute smirked. Everyone's attention was on Mop-Head now, leaving him to do what was needed. The boy started by collecting the apple in the alley, opening the front of his shirt and sticking it inside; the skin was cool against his own, thanks to the awning spread over the stall, keeping out the sun's rays. He resisted the urge to moan - he could already taste it, the juices sweet and bursting along his tongue.

The next step was to actually edge outward and start gathering what was closest without drawing attention to himself; he walked out into the street, acting as entranced as everyone else by the scene playing out before him. The old merchant had started berating Mop-Head and raised one shaky fist as if to cuff him, making Mop-Head wince and shrink back. The older boy was a brilliant actor, and it served both their needs just fine.

Mop-Head's performance sparked a flash of inspiration in the silent boy; before anyone really noticed him, he stooped down, as if he had a bad knee or ankle. This made his job so much easier; all it took was a swift dip of the hand, and he clutched a smooth, cool apple in his palm without the gathered people realizing. Beautiful.

Seven, eight, nine, ten...okay, ten would be enough. Mop-Head had warned to take only what he could, and any more than that would be pressing his luck. His shirt bulged with the apples' presence, and if anyone actually bothered looking his way, it'd be more than just a little conspicuous. Time to turn tail and let Mop-Head make a break for it -

Mute froze. The heavy, cantankerous rattle of armor drew close, and he realized with a jolt that it had been getting louder ever since the older boy had crashed into the apple stand. Craning his head up, Mute saw them - imposing, six figures looming over the crowd, monsters in human armor, faces obscured by those skull plate masks. A hushed silence fell over the crowd; even the cart owner seemed to swallow his tongue, but the silent boy could see him shaking visibly at the effort to keep it in.

Mop-Head had gone completely still; He kept his head down, but Mute could see his eyes were wide open, and his mouth had pulled down into a vicious scowl. His tiny fists shook at his sides, and Mute felt an ice cube slide down his throat. Mop-Head was going to do something rash and would blow the whole thing.

"What seems to be the problem?" One of the soldiers demanded, his voice filtering through his skull-mask with a haunted echo that made Mute shiver.

"This boy just plowed inna my stall!" The merchant yowled, pointing an arthritic finger at Mop-Head. "Totally reckless, an' he ain't even offered t'help pick up these apples! I'm ninety-four years old an' I got no other help!"

"Okay, son, you're gonna have to help the old-timer out." The soldier stepped forward and rested a hand on Mop-Head's shoulders.

It was a simple gesture - from where Mute stood, even between the merchant and the collapsed stall, he could tell there wasn't any animosity on the soldier's part. He was just being a kind adult (two words that never seemed to fit well together in this town, so ironic that it came in the form of one of _them_) trying to make Mop-Head take responsibility for his actions.

Mop-Head, though...something had scarred him, a long time ago, and just as the older boy could tell that Mute had come from a well-to-do family, the younger saw the trauma crackling behind Mop-Head's eyes. Rationality _very visibly_ vanished from him; one small hand lashed out, knocking the larger, armored one from his shoulder.

The motion had enough momentum to it to cause a bright, shiny, delicious apple to fly from Mop-Head's sleeve.

Mute watched with wide eyes as the apple bounced and rolled across the earthen ground, skipping over pieces of the stall and dodging around other apples. It came to a stop, finally, at Mute's dirty feet, and the boy felt one of his father's favorite words drop inside his head. All eyes turned towards the silent boy, whose shirt had distended with round lumps that couldn't possibly be passed off as a bad knee.

"Thieves!" The merchant's voice took on a strangled, high pitch, a shrieking, drowning cat owl, and that was all the signal Mute needed.

Before the soldiers could advance on the two boys, Mute heard Mop-Head yell, "RUN!," but he had already started moving, his tiny feet carrying him as fast as they could, the apples jiggling and bouncing against his belly and sides. Going into the alleys would be a mistake now, since there'd be too much room for the soldiers to catch up; instead, the boy dove between the legs of the onlooking crowd, taking advantage of his size to wriggle between them and escape. Adults couldn't do that.

An uproar sounded from behind him, and he could vaguely pick out orders from one of the soldiers. Mute cast a glance to his left, and he could see Mop-Head running alongside him; the younger boy tried to converge with the older, dodging stalls and people alike, until finally the two were side-by-side.

"Hff - hff - go to the rooftops - " Mop-Head grit his teeth and lowered his head. " - Fire Nation - won't be able to - follow us - "

Mute gave a simple nod, eyes wide, chest heaving and burning. He juked to the right to get around another merchant; the sound of the Fire Nation soldiers chasing after them rung high in his ears, their armor rattling and clanking. A quick glance to his side told him that Mop-Head had split off, or had gotten lost in the crowds; Mute was on his own. He decided to head back for their initial hiding place; a stack of barrels had been set up against it which he could use for his escape.

He navigated the crowd, clutching his arms to his stomach to keep the apples there, and this had better be worth it when they got out of this, _if_ they got out of this. He broke through, the legs and bodies of the assembly giving way to a clear path; the building with the barrels lurked right ahead, he'd just have to round the corner and -

A ball of fire spewed out from, from _where_? It exploded against the ground just to his left, sending up a spray of embers and sparks that licked against Mute's ankles. He let another one of his father's choice words fall internally, eyes wide and jaw clenched; the soldiers weren't trying to _capture_ the boys, they were trying to _kill_ them! Heart thundering under his tunic, knees quivering and, and he wasn't entirely sure he hadn't peed himself, all he could do was keep running, keep moving, get away, get to the roof where they wouldn't be able to give chase.

He made a sharp turn into the alley, kicking up dust behind him; he spotted the barrels, stacked up in a triangular formation all the way to the roof of the building they laid against. He paused for a moment, glancing up; it was...pretty high, wasn't it? Getting all the way up there...what if the Fire Nation knew he'd gone up and kicked the barrels out from under him, left him stranded? Then he'd _never_ be able to get down, and all he'd have were ten apples to his name. Before he could contemplate it further, though, another fireball splashed the ground behind him, the flames licking too close to his ankles. He didn't remember actually climbing the barrels, but he'd crested the topmost one and pulled himself over the edge of the roof, too fast to really register. He landed hard, and a couple apples jabbed him in the small of the back, having slid around inside his tunic; he hissed, but that was okay, he was alive. All he knew was that, that the lip of the roof would hide him, keep him safe, and so long as they didn't knew he was here (did they, though?), they'd probably maybe hopefully give up, leave him alone.

"Where is he? Where'd the brat go?" One of the men called to his compatriots.

Tiny chest heaving, Mute clenched his jaw; the soldiers hadn't seen him go up onto the roof! It was tempting to look over, to peek, just to make sure - but then they could see him, and they could scalp him with their flames, like they'd done to his family, his friends - to everyone who had ever been important to him.

"I can't see him, but he must'a gotten away somewhere. Should we search for him?" Another voice - the one that had tried to make Mop-Head take responsibility for his actions.

"No - we'll draw him to us. Grab the other one and clear out an area in the middle of the plaza!"

Mute felt his eyes go wide again, and his stomach gave a protesting growl; 'The other one.' Had they caught Mop-Head...? Crap, crap, crap! He scrunched his eyes shut; if only he could will this awful mess-up away, to go back in time and talk Mop-Head out of it, to prevent the entire thing from coming to pass. But the clattering the soldiers' armor made as they walked away - their voices filtering through their skull masks, ordering the market goers to clear out, to make space for the Fire Nation - planted Mute in a very firm, very troubled reality.

"Listen up, thief!" The voice to follow was deep and commanding - _not_ the soldier that had touched Mop-Head before. He shouted, to make sure he could be heard wherever Mute had hidden - but it wasn't necessary, really, Mute could hear pretty well without the circumstances surrounding him. He hadn't escaped the plaza, either. "We have your little friend! Surrender now, or the brat won't be able to pick his nose without your help!"

It was only when the soldier fell silent that Mute realized a tiny voice in his head had been going _'stay down stay hidden don't look save yourself,'_ but he couldn't just stand by...he'd hidden when the Fire Nation invaded his home the first time, and all it got Mute was a day of searching garbage heaps for his next meal.

But...

The cool apples pressed against his skin sang a different story. Not much good had come of that experience, but he had met Mop-Head; the older boy was a bit cocky and very scary when it came to the Fire Nation, but he was the only person in the entire town that had been willing to help Mute get by. Now his life was on the line just so the pair could eat something that hadn't already rotted away and that should have made it more than worth the risk.

Mute rolled over and pushed up to his hands and knees, crawling over to the edge of the roof, the tile rough and dusty beneath his grubby fingers. The air smelled of singed dirt, and the sky's fringe had already begun curling into dusk, a light orange color flecking the horizon. Using the lip to stay hidden, he peered over, into the plaza; a wave of nausea washed over him as he spotted the six Fire Nation soldiers arranged in a cluster in the center of the market, in the center of a wide ring of people. Customers and merchants alike had cleared out the space for them, backing away in either respect or terror, drawing away slowly, as if any sudden movement was likely to set them off. One soldier wore more ornate armor than the other five; while their plate mail was the standard mix of maroon and black, with spike-toed boots, Number Six's was highlighted with yellow trim, with flames were etched across his chest piece. Mute hadn't noticed it before; he'd been too busy trying to stay low-key, or stealing apples, or running away. If he was to take an educated guess, then Number Six was higher-ranked than the rest and could also be the commanding officer of the unit stationed here. Maybe.

It didn't stop him from making the silent youth want to listen to that high, cowering voice nagging at the back of his mind.

One of the regular soldiers held Mop-Head in the air with a full-nelson, pinning the boy's arms up; he wriggled and cursed in his grasp, his face contorted into an animalistic fusion of hatred, rage and pain. It was almost as if the very notion of touching the soldier brought him physical agony. The higher-ranked soldier had one of Mop-Head's wrists in one hand, the other clenched into a fist; small trails of flame trickled out from the gap made by his thumb and forefinger, taking the shape of a small dagger. He brought the fire-dagger up close to the exposed skin of Mop-Head's forearm; the proximity was so close that Mute winced for his partner, an imagined, blistering heat welling up against his skin.

"Don't listen to 'em, Mute!" Mop-Head yelled, his voice shrill. The silent boy saw his jaw working, muscles all over his body tense and shaking, but - not out of fear. He wasn't like the cowering masses that stood away from the soldiers, from the public display they were putting on; he was defiant, ferocious, even in his position, and watching him in action...as acute as his hearing was, watching Mop-Head fight with all odds against him made that tiny, yellow-bellied voice in Mute's head unperceivable. "They're Fire Nation bastards! Run!"

"I mean it, boy!" The lead soldier tightened his grip on Mop-Head's wrist, but he didn't cry out; he clenched his teeth and his eyes, keeping his face pointed at the ground. "I'll give you to the count of five to show yourself! One - two - three - "

Mute scowled. No - he wouldn't lose anyone else he cared about to the Fire Nation. It didn't matter if the Fire Nation soldiers were bigger, stronger and scarier - all adults looked like that on the outside, right? These guys were picking on children who were so hungry that they'd risk stealing apples. They were bullies, and - and bullies were all cowards on the inside.

" - four - "

Pushing himself up into a kneeling position, Mute drew the apple from his shirt, the skin cool and hard and crunchy and delicious beneath his fingertips. Clutching it tightly, he reared back with it, clenching his jaw - it wouldn't taste nearly as good if he were eating it alone - and hurled it, grunting, the muscles in his arm burning. He dropped back down before anyone could spot him, keeping his eyes over the lip of the roof; the apple soared in a high, narrow arc, splattering against the helmet of the lead soldier before he could finish the count. The apple exploded in a brilliant splash of pale green innards and red skin, knocking the soldier off his balance and skewing his helmet; Mute could hear him cry out, his voice even more muffled without the mouthpiece centered where it ought to have been, and he had released his grip on Mop-Head's wrist.

A grin had split the shaggy-haired boy's face, and his eyes had gone dangerously narrow. "You're gonna get it now - my buddy is still out there!" He bared his teeth, his lips pulling into a fierce smirk.

The soldiers took defensive positions and glanced around - they couldn't figure out where Mute had attacked from! The boy felt a wicked grin crossing his face. Good; this could still work to his advantage. He drew two more apples, hurling them at two different soldiers, his arms alight, but it felt so _good_. He dropped down again, but only long enough to grab more of his makeshift ammunition; red citrus bombs, soaring across the heads of the assembled bystanders, pelting the soldiers - hitting their helmets, their knees, their crotches, all sensitive points. One-by-one they fell, groaning, to the ground, their armor soaked in ruined apples. Only the one holding Mop-Head and the leader remained standing, the latter of which stumbled around, still blinded; one well-placed line drive to the back of his knee was enough to fell him, collapsing on top of one of his subordinates with a sharp clatter. In the back of his head, in a part secluded from the here and now, the sound reminded Mute of fine china falling from a shelf, shattering and ricocheting off the wood floor.

The one holding Mop-Head took a quick glance around; realizing he was alone amongst his comrades, he hoisted the boy upward as a flesh shield. Mop-Head's smirk widened, becoming more lopsided with every passing second; Mute realized, probably at the same time Mop-Head did, that while he was still held captive, the Fire Nation soldier couldn't mount a counter-attack. "I tolja you bastards would get what's coming to ya!"

Mute grabbed another apple - one of the last three, but this would be all he needed. His view of the last soldier's helmet was obscured mostly by Mop-Head's obnoxious hair...but Mute could still see a sliver of glimmering maroon, and that was more than enough. He reared back and threw as hard as he could - this one didn't just soar, it rocketed through the air, connecting with its target, spraying Mop-Head with the apple's guts. The soldier cried out and lost his grip on the boy; Mop-Head broke away from his captive, dropping down to the ground and lashing out with a tiny leg, nailing the soldier in the shin. It was enough to send the armored monstrosity off-kilter, and he used the opportunity to dash for the crowd, vanishing between their legs.

The silent boy nodded and skittered over to the edge of the roof. He didn't need to talk to Mop-Head to know where they'd meet up, so all he needed to do was get away from the marketplace and wait. As he clambered down the barrels, returning to the dusty, filthy ground, his pulse hammering in in his ears and against his chest, a grin tugged back on his lips, cheeks tingling. That had been..._exhilarating_. As if standing up on the roof, standing his ground against the Fire Nation, standing for those he loved that had fallen, had awakened something inside him. A greater sense of purpose, kinda...hard to pin down. Maybe Mop-Head would understand when he told him.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Damn."

Mute looked up from the garbage heap, a grin on his face; Mop-Head stood in the mouth of the alley, his hands on his knees, chest heaving and sweat glistening on his brow. He raised his head up and matched Mute's grin with his own. It had been two hours since the incident in the market place, and Mute had been starting to worry that the soldiers had caught his friend again - but of course, he should have known better than that.

"Hell yeah, you should," Mop-Head replied, walking over to the younger boy and crouching down beside him. "You're absolutely insane, did you know that? Taking down adults with apples - apples! - from forty yards away?"

Mute let his grin fade into a something more modest, and he crooked his head to the side. Hey, it wasn't anything special; he was just covering Mop-Head's butt, was all. Anyone could'a done it.

Mop-Head snorted and shook his head. "Oh give it up, Captain Humblepants. Nobody could _ever_ have done that, especially the one that'd been holding me - I could feel the apple in my hair when it flew past, fer crying out loud!"

The black-haired boy shrugged and crooked his head to the side. Well, if it was special, how come he'd been able to do that sorta stuff since forever?

"Maybe it's a natural gift. If I believed in Spirits, I'd say that maybe gave it to you for a reason." Mop-Head let his grin fall as well, taking a contemplative frown. He picked up a long stick and prodded at the garbage heap, as if no longer willing to search through it so vigorously. "You know...it's not so hard to figure out why you're here, even though you don't say a word. Actually, I should say it's _because_ you don't say a word."

What exactly was he getting at? Mute hiked an eyebrow, but Mop-Head didn't bother to look up at him to see his reaction.

"The Fire Nation - they did this to you."

Despite himself - despite the fact that Mute had figured Mop-Head wouldn't have known any better- his stomach did a flip-flop, and he had to fight off the urge to vomit, knowing only bile would come up. How - how had this silly, crazy boy gotten down to the truth so candidly? Mute lost his balance and sat down on the ground, hard, and felt his eyes sting - tears. Crying, again, for the first time in days. Instead of eliciting amusement from the older boy, it only made his frown deepen into a true scowl.

"They probably burned down your entire home, killed everyone you loved." Mop-Head's hands clenched into fists, and Mute had to look away - to hide his shame. Because he'd hidden himself, hidden away while his siblings and family burned. "And you...you were defenseless. That's why you don't speak anymore. You come from Jìn, didn't you...?"

Mute flinched at the name of his hometown and nodded. He tried so hard not to sob - but the tears flowed anyway, and he wiped them away with his sleeve, leaving damp, dirty smudges on his cheeks. Spirits, why was it so hard to face up to, even now...?

"I'm sorry." Mop-Head's voice became hushed. "The Fire Nation is terrible - they burn and murder and destroy everything in their paths without any consequence. Friends, family, homes - everything that's familiar, everything that you love - so much ash and soot. They came to my town two years ago and burned it to the ground. I was the only survivor."

Mute blinked and looked up to Mop-Head again, eyes wide; he'd suffered the same fate...? Mute was good at gauging people, but he never saw the same sorrow or shame in Mop-Head's eyes that he himself felt. How could he be so wild, so ready to live this life, so eager to take to the garbage piles and kick soldiers in the shins?

"I can't do much now," Mop-Head murmured, head bowed down - whether he had picked up on Mute's message or not, the silent boy couldn't tell. "All I can do is steal from sympathizers and run. But when I'm big - when I'm an adult - I'll take as many down as I can. Even if I die fighting them, it'll be worth it if I can make their families suffer as much as I have for mine. I'll make sure nobody ever has to feel the same pain we have, ever again. They need to be stopped."

The younger of the two boys paused for a moment, soaking in his companion's words; he closed his eyes for a moment and - there, he could see the flames, hear the screams of his family, his friends, but they were much further away now than they'd been for the past week. Something about the older boy's promise - his vow - made the pain hurt less. Mute doubted it would ever go away for good...but the older boy had applied some salve to the wound.

He took a deep, calming breath, and rested his hand on Mop-Head's shoulder. The older boy glanced back to see Mute's gaze; somber, with his thick brows furrowed, Mute gave a slow, single nod. Mop-Head didn't have anything to worry about; Mute wouldn't let him take on these glorified bullies on by himself.

"You - you'll help me...?"

Another nod; nothing more really needed saying. Mop-Head smiled.

"Thanks...Longshot."

Mute tilted his head to the side and hiked an eyebrow. Longshot...?

"Well - I figure...if we're gonna take things into our own hands, we need cool names, right...?" Mop-Head grinned and shot up to his feet, thrusting one arm sideways with the fingers sticking straight out. "With your aim - the way you hit those Fire Nation jerks from so far away...I was thinking to myself, 'it'd take a long shot for him to help me now.' But you came through anyway! Besides...'Mute' is kind of a mean name anyway. You deserve to have 'Longshot.' It's who you are and what you can do." He shrugged. "We don't have anything else but us now, right? I think we should stick with that idea. Get a fresh start, build up on the people we used to be as we fight for our freedom."

The boy whose name used to be Mute, which used to be something else - a different word with a more beautiful meaning a week and a lifetime ago - smiled and motioned for the stick in his partner's hand. The older boy hiked an eyebrow but passed it along anyway; Longshot took it and used it to trace the necessary characters into the grime. When finished, he passed the stick back to Mop-Head, beaming. The shaggy-headed boy leaned forward, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow

"Hum. 'Jet...?'" The older of the two boys - Jet, now - fixed Longshot with a curious stare. "Why 'Jet?'"

Well, that should be pretty obvious, shouldn't it? Longshot shifted into a squat and propped his elbows up onto his knees, smirking. The way he ran? It was like a jet stream. He could seriously haul when necessary. If Longshot was Longshot for his aim, then Jet should be Jet for his speed.

For a moment, incredulity flickered in Jet's eyes, brown and wide and shimmering in the fading sunlight, and Longshot felt a niggling doubt that he'd chosen poorly. The notion dispelled, though, when Jet rocked backwards, landing on his butt and giving himself to gales of laughter, youthful and almost pure - a stark contrast to how he stood in regards to the Fire Nation. He'd said he didn't believe in Spirits, but Longshot could feel the Spirit of Irony looming nearby, cast-iron skillet in hand.

"That's hilarious!" He staggered back up to his feet and clapped Longshot on the shoulder. "I get it."

Longshot smiled. It was the least he could do, right? In any case, now was the time for them to enjoy the spoils of their raid. Standing up and reaching into his shirt, he withdrew the last two apples from inside it; both were pretty squished from him landing on them, and while they weren't as crisp and hard and cool as the others had been, they were still apples. He passed the better of the two to Jet before hunkering down to start working on his own.

"What - ? Why are you keeping the bad one?"

The younger boy shrugged and simply took a bite out of it. Did it matter? Food is food, after all. Even though it had been damaged when he fell onto it back in the plaza, the juice burst inside his mouth, over his tongue - filling him with an incredible sense of achievement. The skin snapped and the innards crunched as he chewed, careful to not let even a drop of juice escape his lips. Ohhh, this was _delicious_, so much so that words defied him, that he couldn't think of anything more apt. He paced himself as to not get sick, and one bite at a time, his tummy stopped its incessant rumbling.

"Then here's to us, huh? Jet an' Longshot. The Freedom Fighters." Jet held his apple up in a mock toast before taking a large bite out of it.

And that had been the start of things.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

No, a few days wasn't an issue. Hunger was an old friend to any Freedom Fighter...but for Longshot in particular, it culled up a lot of nostalgic memories. As he sat on the cold, unyielding stone in the fading light with only Bee as his company, he thought most of all about how ironic Jet's statement had been back then...about dying fighting the Fire Nation, and how it'd be worthwhile.

Jet hadn't died fighting the Fire Nation at all...he'd died fighting against the Earth Kingdom, _his_ kingdom. Longshot had to wonder if, even in the face of all that had come to pass, if Jet's murder had justified his life at all...


	3. Book 1, Chapter 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 1: A Fight for Survival**

**Chapter 3: Spatula, Part 1: I'll bring you back a souvenir of what we stole**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-1-3-127259307

Extra special thanks to Sylvacoer, who helped me figure out all the crazy military talk in this chapter! I wouldn't'a been able to do it without you, girl :D .org/wiki/Appendix:English_military_slang

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Smellerbee hated the rain.

She hated how it soaked into her clothes, making her cold and damp and miserable. She hated how little rivulets snuck down past her headband, getting into the dark rings of mascara around her eyes, which was normally to keep the sun's brightness from being too intense; she couldn't rub the water out without smearing the mascara, making a dark, blotchy mess that was a pain in the ass to clean and even more to keep under control. She hated how it matted down her shaggy, dust-brown hair, making it cling to the sides of her head and face like a soaked towel. She hated that Jet always had some kind of mission planned for when the rain fell; he'd always put it under the pretense that it made for better cover and weakened Firebending, which was true enough, but he wasn't very good at masking the fact that he set missions on rainy days because they put Smellerbee in a bad mood, and she would be more than happy to take it out on the Fire Nation.

"Longshot...are you awake?"

Through the darkness - the fluorescent crystal giving dim, green light to the two trapped Freedom Fighters having sputtered and died hours ago - the noise of Longshot scuffing his boot against the ground came to greet her. Yeah, give him a second...he'd been kinda half-dozing. Needed to get his thoughts together.

"Okay. Okay, good." Smellerbee fidgeted, her body sore and tired from sitting for so long; the chains attached to her shackles weren't long enough to allow the small Freedom Fighter to lie down or even crouch. Her arms hurt, too, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsated through her bones and muscles; to top it all off, her stomach rumbled and her mouth had gone dry, so dry that it was hard to swallow or talk. The hunger was so intense that it felt like her stomach would crawl out of her mouth and swallow itself if only to have had _something_ to eat. "Because...we have a big problem."

Longshot didn't reply right away - he had to pick his words right, his mind wasn't quite in place yet. What was going down?

"It's - it's everything," she muttered, her voice catching. "I've been such a scatterbrain ever since Jet...died. It's like I can't focus. I know I should find a way out of here for us, but every angle I look at it from doesn't work. We're starving and thirsty and we need to survive and I'm completely letting you down, and - "

She was _not_. Smellerbee was doing way more than Longshot could; he was having trouble even figuring out where they would start, and she'd already taken on different ideas and worked them over and over.

In her mind, the swordswoman could see Longshot's brow furrowing, his eyes glowing with stern intent; she chuckled to herself, a bitter cackle, hanging her head.

"The rain." Smellerbee drew a deep breath. The words - hoarse of voice and _tired_, so tired - rebounded off the narrow space between the two Freedom Fighters. "I can feel it. It's raining out there, and it's coming down in torrents."

Her wrists were burning again, weren't they...?

"Yeah."

She'd never explained to him how that came about.

"You're curious about that _now_...?" She shook her head and sighed. "Doesn't feel like an appropriate time."

When would it be, then? If they didn't get out of here, there wouldn't be another chance. Dancing this close to the edge, Longshot...he didn't know, he just wanted to learn more about her. He'd always known that the rain caused her wrists to flare up, but the 'how' and 'when' had never been brought up.

Smellerbee grunted. It was hard to argue with that logic, when he said it like that; squeezing her eyes shut, she said, "When I was a kid - before you an' Jet found me - I was a slave to the Fire Nation (but you know _that_ part). They worked us regardless of the weather, mining for raw materials, or building their offices, or constructing defense stations. When the rain fell, it would get trapped between the shackles and my wrists...since I didn't wear long sleeves or gloves then, the water and metal irritated my skin. And now whenever it rains nearby, I can feel it - my wrists break out in hives, right where my shackles used to be. I brought some of that salve with us when we left the forest, but it's still in our apartment. My wrists are burning, Longshot - it's raining, and if the Dai Li were tellin' the truth about the air hole - how it dips down before coming back up...it'll flood and cut off the flow of air. We're running out of time."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three Years Ago_

"A slave line."

Though her words were hushed, they dropped from Smellerbee's mouth with the same intensity as the most venomous curse in her vocabulary - and she knew a _lot_. She scowled and clenched her teeth, her knuckles white from gripping the hilt of her dagger so tightly.

Through the thick, entangled branches and cherry-red leaves and the increasing pitch as dusk yielded to night, she could make out a line of about twenty Earth Kingdom people - civilians, some younger than herself even - marching with a familiar, lethargic shuffle, their feet scraping along the ground. They cut a path through the forest - _their_ forest! How dare they! - by traveling along a dirt path wriggling between the trees. She spotted the shackles around their wrists and necks, and sometimes the ones around their ankles, too - depending on what kind of pants they wore, if they were so baggy as to obscure them. Chains connected each person to the one behind them, leading from the shackles, neck attached to neck, wrist to wrist, ankle to ankle. The sight sparked old, soot-coated memories for the eleven year old Freedom Fighter, frayed and burnt at the edges, a burbling fire set to boil beneath her lungs, waiting to be unleashed.

"Are you okay for this?" Jet's voice whispered from a branch behind and below her. Smellerbee glanced over her shoulder to catch him staring at her; for a moment, concern flickered across his face, but he covered it up with a mask of nonchalance. "'Cause, you know..."

"Look, I'm fine," Smellerbee growled. "I'm not weak. I can handle my own."

"I never said you were." Jet shrugged, the wheat stalk in his mouth flipping over as he spoke. His swords glimmered against the pale moonlight filtering through the trees above, quicksilver snakes floating in the air. His mouth quirked into a roguish half-grin, one she'd known about for . "I was just makin' sure you were serious about this."

"I've been part of the team for a while, so I think you know the answer to that one." She turned her attention back to the line, mind absorbed in the too-familiar rattling and shaking of the metal bonds holding those people.

"Sure." She thought she heard Jet mutter, "I'm countin' on it," but even with her sharp hearing, she couldn't really be sure. It kinda bothered her that he'd question her skills _now_ of all times, he knew she was a capable fighter, had been since five, and it wasn't like this was her first time going into combat.

But...he knew all that, right? Maybe it wasn't a question of skill. Narrowing her eyes, she thought - it could be that he figured she wouldn't be up to par because this was a slave line. Because she'd been part'a one. He'd be wrong, because being a slave hadn't traumatized her; if anything, it fueled her, rose her hackles, more eager and focused on doing this _right_.

"So - they take everyone?" Pipsqueak asked. While he spoke quietly to try and mask their whereabouts, his voice still had a thunderous depth to it, making Smellerbee wish he'd tone it down even more; giving away their position now would only ruin the element of surprise. "Even kids?"

"Even kids," Smellerbee muttered, narrowing her eyes. "They only leave invalids and senior citizens behind, 'cause they're useless in a mine, they keel over too quickly. It's more productive to keep 'em where they were...and that's only if the Fire Nation don't burn their houses to the ground with them still inside it. Earthbenders are shuffled off to metal islands far out to sea, leaving them powerless. Any town that fights back too much, or isn't worth enslaving, gets turned to ash."

"Hmph." Jet scowled. "Okay. Pipsqueak, the heaviest guard will be at the rear; you wait for the end of the line to come up and take them down, okay? Once you've shown them how it's done, start freeing slaves and work your way up the line. Bee, you're with me; we'll take the middle guards together. You're our best lock picker, so you'll stay behind to free the slaves while I move up to the front. They won't have any clue as to what's going on, and - "

"What's going on here?"

Jet froze mid-sentence, and all three Freedom Fighters tensed up; Smellerbee shied away instinctively, even though there was no _way_ they could have been spotted in this darkness, with this much cover. It only took a second for her to realize that the voice had been aimed down instead of up, and that the slave line had come to a sudden halt; while they had been busy planning, a small boy with a dome of black hair and big, round ears had stumbled and fallen forward. A Fire Nation guard - low in rank, as his armor was largely black with few maroon highlights, and his helmet lacked the trademark skull-like faceplate - stood over the boy, his fists clenched at his side. The soldier's charcoal-colored eyes gleamed in the rising moonlight, even at this distance, and Smellerbee saw his mouth twist into a joyous sneer.

"Get up, child." The soldier growled from underneath a long, ratty mustache. "The Fire Nation doesn't tolerate slackers!"

"He's got to be four years old," Smellerbee hissed, a queasy, fiery sensation rising up her throat. Rage threatened to bubble over, but for the sake of the mission - for Jet - she tried to suppress it, to keep it under control until the right time. Acting prematurely wouldn't do them any good on such an important job; the people down there were depending on the Freedom Fighters to do their job right, so they could escape this mess with their lives. Over the sound of her voice and the soldier's, she heard the boy sobbing into the ground; he didn't bother to stand up, his small frame quivering against the blue-tinged grass. It wasn't surprising; she hadn't been so afraid by the whole slave thing, but she wasn't like a lot of kids. Others scared easy, cried for their lost families, sobbed for the life that had been stripped of them until they were broken, empty shells without the willpower to mourn their losses.

"Very well...you were slowing the line down anyway." The contempt in the adult's voice - speaking to a child like that! Smellerbee scowled. How could they be so monstrous to not realize the kid was probably frightened and cold and hungry...?

The boy hiccupped. "Muh-Momma...I want Momma...!"

The soldier closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He planted his feet apart and drew his right arm back, fingers hooked over the palm; a spark flickered under the crook of his digits before taking the form of a fireball.

"If you don't get up and move, you'll get to join her, kid!"

Smellerbee felt her ears heat up; the rage, the fury she'd been keeping under control for Jet's sake, it just, it burst like an overcooked sausage and she could swear she heard something inside her go _snap_ - something actually _had _snapped, it came too far to the left to be from inside her own head -

"Leave him _alone_!"

She cursed. Pipsqueak had pushed away from his branch, hurtling towards the ground like a boulder flung by a catapult, a blur of dusty red and navy blue; he reached for the log he had sheathed on his back and had it drawn by the time he hit the ground. Crouching, not bothering to roll, the earth rumbling beneath him, he swung his makeshift weapon full force into the soldier's head. Smellerbee heard the low, wet crunch over the metallic clang of the man's helmet caving in, and noted with distant - horror? fascination? - how his neck bent at a strange angle. His body went airborne from the force behind Pipsqueak's swing, landing and twisting on the ground in a pile of armor and flesh, dust kicking up into the air.

Pipsqueak rose up to his full height, a massive six feet, six inches of muscle and rage, and stared left and right with a surprising ferocity on his normally simple, jovial face. There were too many soldiers near enough to pick up on the commotion, even though they stood further ahead or behind along the length of the line - and true enough, she heard them holler for backup in both directions, which meant more soldiers would show up, which meant their plan had already started to snowball.

Dammit.

Smellerbee and Jet exchanged one quick glance, the latter giving a curt nod, his eyes narrowed; nothing now but to do it. They both pushed away from their branches, and though Smellerbee lost sight of him right away, she'd seen him jump into combat before - he would bound from one branch to another, using the hooks of his swords to dig into one as it passed by, letting momentum swing him around so he could crouch on it. He'd repeat the motion, only two or three times until he hit the ground, but Smellerbee wasn't that technical. She had dropped away from the branch, and already the wind tore at her face, her heart hammered against her ribs, vision blurred as the ground hurtled towards her, no sound but the air howling past her ears, sweeping her hair back, rippling her clothes. She pivoted in midair, landing in a crouch; she tucked her knees in and rolled, turning a lethal impact into a slight jar, a carry-on of momentum, so when she sprang up to her feet, she rose unharmed, ready to fight.

"Smellerbee, work on freeing the slaves!" Jet called, landing in a crouch beside her, kicking up dust. "Pipsqueak, you and I are on cover duty! Keep their attention so they can't hurt anyone!"

"They're gonna have a hell of a time gettin' through me," Pipsqueak rumbled, and for the second time in not as many minutes, Smellerbee saw an animalistic side of the gentle giant that he'd never shown before, even in the thick of battle. He'd taken this personally, and - and that was _good_, it meant that he had more vested into the battle, that he'd do more to make sure they won.

The swordswoman gave a sharp nod and ran towards the nearest slave, the boy, drawing a hair pin from the hem of her right glove; she'd never carry something like this around for its intended use, but it sure as hell made a good lock pick.

She crouched down next to the boy, pin clutched between her fingers; she didn't need to ask him to hold still, since he'd clambered up to his feet and stared up at Pipsqueak in the time it took her to cross over to him. Before Smellerbee leaned forward to get a closer look at the shackles binding him, she caught a pure, innocent glisten in his eyes, a smile pulling back on his mouth - the look of a kid worshipping his favorite fictional hero, except Pipsqueak was very real and very _there_ with his massive presence. Something about this young child made Smellerbee's heart skip a beat - she hadn't felt like that in...well, as long as she could remember. She felt the fire leap up from her chest, because this boy _was_ a child, down to the very essence, and the Fire Nation were going to take him, and others _like_ him...okay, okay. Keep it in check, Smellerbee, try not to scare this kid any more than he already is.

"Listen," Smellerbee murmured, drawing the boy's attention away from the largest Freedom Fighter; she put on a friendly, warm voice, and gave him the most comforting smile she could muster given the circumstances, given how badly she wanted to curse and yell and hug the boy for all that he'd been through. From behind her, the sounds of Jet and Pipsqueak taking to combat roared up, wood and metal clashing against more metal and flesh. The boy flinched, as she felt a splash of heat hammer her back, a golden glow flaring up against the child's face. She continued to talk to him as she worked at the locks in his shackles, occasionally glancing back up into his wide, shining eyes - but if it was fear or hero worship at this point, it was hard to tell. The fight sounded too close. "I'm going to set you free, okay? You just need to sit still a little while longer. When the shackles are off, run into the woods - run and hide, and don't come out until all the bad Fire Nation men are gone, okay?"

The boy sniffed and nodded, silent, his mouth agape. Smellerbee could see the gaps in his teeth from where baby teeth had fallen out; she twitched involuntarily, but managed to keep her facade up. He was a baby, and the Fire Nation had taken him with everyone else, treated him like less than dirt, threatened to kill him when all he wanted was his mother...

"I'm Smellerbee. What's your name?" The shackles around his wrists clattered and fell away, swinging back and forth at his hips. The cacophony of the fight, a song Smellerbee was intimate with and longed to join into, thrashed at the nighttime sky, and another fire blast hit the ground near her, barely missing, and how _dare_ they endanger the slaves while they were helpless like this? Through the boy's chains, she felt, saw the tension increasing as the others in the line tried to shy away from the battle, how eagerly they wanted to run - and how close to freedom they were, from the ones that could see Smellerbee at work.

"D-Dian," came the reply, his voice wibbling a bit. "Smellerbee is a funny name."

"It is, isn't it?" She grinned up at him. "A friend of mine gave it to me - his name is pretty silly, too. Longshot." She gave a quick tug on her own unruly brown locks as if to emphasize her point; after all, not a lot of people in the world had the same fashion disaster sense of the Freedom Fighters.

And - aha! - with a satisfying rattle, the last of Dian's shackles popped free, liberating him; Smellerbee turned to go to the one to her left, expecting the boy to break immediately for the forest. Instead, though, she felt him lunge at her, wrapping small arms around her neck, his chest pressed into her face, his chin resting on her head. She clamped down on the instinct to reach for her dagger - just a kid, Smellerbee, not a Fire Nation soldier or a face leech (though really, the two went hand in hand, when you thought about it). The scent of dirt and dried blood assaulted her - old, disgusting scents, from wearing too-large clothes like Dian did, passed down second-hand by his captors, having belonged to a person who no longer had need for it. The fabric was rough, callous against her cheek, and she bit back the urge to gag in experiencing these sensations again, even vicariously.

"Thank you, Ms. Smellerbee," the boy chirped. "And thank Mr. Giant for me, too!"

"Ms. - ?" Smellerbee felt her eyes go wide. How'd he figure out she was a girl...? Brushing the notion away, she patted him on the back and eased him to the ground, cool, fresh air overcoming her again, if not a little burnt from the firefight. "Go now - run, find a safe place! Hide in the trees if you have to - the Fire Nation doesn't ever bother looking there." Valuable advice she knew from experience.

Dian gave her a wide, gap-toothed smile and fled, away from the battle, vanishing between the golden-brown tree trunks. The Freedom Fighter stared after him for a moment and felt a hopeless grin crossing her face; she crooked her head to the side and murmured, "Heh. Kids." Turning back to the prisoner that had been behind Dian, a young lady wearing filthy green robes with the hems torn, she added, "Back to work, I guess."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

"Come on, you Fire Nation assholes!"

As Smellerbee moved down the line, she would cast quick glances over to Jet and Pipsqueak as they fought, their rage spilling over from combat to trash talk. She caught flickers, bits an' pieces of the action, as Jet hooked one of their enemies under the arms; he kneed him in the groin and dragged him close, allowing the Freedom Fighter to use him as a shield. As she turned her attention back to the next slave, she heard Jet bellow, "You got no issue attacking a child, but you chicken-lizard out when it comes to drawing against your own men?"

Almost done, almost done...her friends had done an incredible job, keeping the enemy off her. She'd finished everyone who had been behind Dian - the bulk of the entire line, the boy had been near the front - and only a couple more slaves remained near the head. From the corner of her eye, she saw a body go flying, probably the guy Jet had been holding, a maroon and black missile. She heard him connect with another soldier, maybe two, as their armor rattled and clashed against each other. They collapsed to the ground just as another one landed _hard_ on his side, to Smellerbee's left, an audible series of crunches and snaps rushing into the air. He moaned and rolled over on his back - unconscious.

"Broken shoulder and collar bone, if not a few ribs and the arm," she muttered, and with a small "There," undid the last shackle, and moved right on to the last slave, the one at the head of the line. "He'll feel that in the morning. Now get moving!"

Smellerbee's job got harder the further she progressed down the line; the fight made the slaves panicky, and not all of them knew of their impending freedom. The tension from wanting to get away, alongside their fear of the Fire Nation should they try to escape and get caught, and the fact that they couldn't really get away at all while chained to two other people, made them fidgety and impatient and difficult to work with. Smellerbee only found it ironic that a four-year-old caught in the same mess and was undoubtedly more bewildered had given her less trouble than any of the adults so far. This last guy was no exception, and he was the worst of all; his eyes had gone wide, darted left, right, left, right, jaw clenched; he tugged at the chains, realized he had slack, and started to turn, no, no, that's not good! Smellerbee tried to reach up, to grab him by the wrist, but he was already gone, moving fast for someone dragging fifty yards of chain behind him, shouting a name, a loved one probably, but not loud enough that it pierced the cover noise of battle. The idiot! Smellerbee clenched her jaw and secreted the pin back into the hem of her glove.

"Tong Cheng! Tong Cheng!"

He didn't make it far; one of the soldiers spotted him, a wall of a man that rivaled Pipsqueak in outright size and girth, and managed to break away from the battle. He thundered towards the escapee, each footstep rattling the ground; he drew one fist back, flame sparking across his knuckles, and when he came into range of the slave, punched him hard in the gut. The slave jerked once as fire erupted from his back, a brilliant spike of crimson and orange.

Agh - dammit! She'd been so close, the operation had almost been a complete success! The soldier discarded the charred body, tossing it to the side as if it were nothing more than trash before turning his attention to Smellerbee, a wicked grin slicing his face. The Freedom Fighter pushed off the ground, her knees cracking; the air blistered around her, and she realized that sweat had been percolating under her headband for a while now, that the firefight had been washing over her. She reached back and drew her dagger in a flash of golden light, just as his hand went for - a sword! Hanging from his hip in an earthen leather sheath. He pulled it free, the blade ringing and thrumming against the filtered moonlight.

Good. Swords were her specialty.

She ran full-tilt at the soldier, crouching down with her dagger at the ready; the man planted his legs apart and brought the sword up, readying himself for a cleave attack that could (probably) cut her down given his strength. That was fine, he could think all he wanted that she was stumbling into his hands; she had more experience to fall for something like that, her knees and ankles jarring as she sprinted. Her lungs, chest on fire, breath coming out hot and sore and empowered, she felt a grin tugging up on her _own_ face, and yes, now she could let the lava boil over, she didn't need to suppress it anymore. She'd take her rage at what the Fire Nation did to the Earth Kingdom children and turn it back on them, and she'd sure as hell make 'em feel it.

And - there, close enough to the soldier, she saw his muscles tense up, ready to swing; she juked left at the last minute, dodging the cleave by inches, the backwind brushing her hair, cooling her cheek. The blade made a golden crescent as it cut through the air, and in that motion, in the back of her mind, Smellerbee saw the flaws in it - nicks and scratches and other imperfections. He didn't take care of the thing, and that could work to her advantage if he actually hit her with it, the edge might be too dull to do any damage.

The whiff left him wide open, and the swordswoman dropped down between his legs, letting momentum carry her past him; dirt scuffed her back, grated into her shoulders, kicking up clouds of the stuff as she skidded across the ground. Above her, a flash of grainier black set against the shimmering, rough gloss cast by the metal armor against the raging, flashing inferno nearby. Fabric, a chink in the armor, a weak point; she thrust her dagger upward, the blade digging into the man's thigh, catching on flesh and muscle as the gash widened with her momentum, blood splashing out onto her face, her hair, her glove. The soldier gave a strangled cry, voice cracking - may as well have kicked him in the junk with a shriek that girly and shrill - and she slammed her free hand into the ground, bringing her to a quick, suffocating halt as the dust cloud rolled over her. Before the soldier could recover, she pushed herself into a crouch and lashed out with a donkey kick to the back of his knees, toppling him. His sword clattered away, shooting up sparks as it clattered across stone.

Before the soldier could get back up to his feet - and he was lurching to do just that, as if the dagger and a popped tendon weren't enough to keep him down - Smellerbee lunged for his sword, grabbing its rough, worn hilt in her off hand and rolling across the ground. She sprang back up just as the soldier got his senses about him, thrusting a fist in her direction, a burst of flames roaring at her; she back stepped, the fireball roaring past her face, so close that she could feel the heat on her skin, smelled her hair singe. Enough was enough; while the soldier was still prone, she brought the sword down with enough force that even its dulled tip buried into his back, the shaft splintering and breaking. Whether he was dead or not, it didn't matter - he was out of the fight.

Okay. Okay. The slaves she could save were free and had vanished between the woods, and all that left were the soldiers - only seven or eight of them at this point, and Smellerbee caught flashes of Jet and Pipsqueak in the center, swinging, slashing, punching, kicking. Even from outside the swarming cluster of enemies, she could see her friends tiring, sweat glistening on their faces, their chests heaving and movements sluggish. They'd been drawing the soldiers' fire for...she didn't know how long, she couldn't really measure the time she'd spent picking locks, but if she were to estimate, then it was at least ten minutes. Gripping the dagger in one hand and the shattered remains of her stolen sword in the other, she ducked down and charged for her friends, and Smellerbee's freshness would be able to end this battle decisively, it would -

- she leapt, air howling at her face, and for a moment the only thing she heard was her own pulse throbbing in her ears -

- brought the broken sword down, landing hard on one of the soldiers' back, driving it down into his neck -

- bounded away, a squirrel frog, she pivoted in midair; Jet saw her coming, ducked down, and she landed on his back, rolling so he wouldn't collapse, kicking out at a troop looming dangerously close -

- stabbed at another, landing on the ground in a crouch -

- everything a blur, so fast, her blood on fire, yes, _yes_, she swung her dagger around again, inky lifefluid glistening in the moonlight -

- fire licked the inky sky, searing hot tongues of destruction -

- Pipsqueak ragdolled another soldier, the troop landing hard on his neck, crumpling to the ground -

- too suddenly, white, exploding pain crashed against the side of her head, and -

- landed hard on the ground, dirt searing her cheek -

- someone yelling, calling - her name? -

- colors bled, ran into each other, a paint splatter of greens and blacks and blues and browns and oranges, nonsense colors -

- how did it go wrong so fast? -

- nothing.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Unh.

Ow. Ow ow ow.

Smellerbee grunted, eyes squeezed shut - what the hell had happened? The right side of her face felt tight, and when she tried to speak, her mouth didn't quite move the way it should have. Her tongue felt thick and heavy behind her teeth...she wondered, distantly, if maybe Longshot had actually gotten in a solid hit on her last night during their melee combat sessions. Something felt..._wrong_ about that, though, because...last she remembered, the moon had been out - great and shining, a silver coin set into the sky. She never trained that late with Longshot. Still, her body ached, her muscles tensed, and...and night, the forest, fire, swords, shackles...

Smellerbee awoke with a start, her right eye going wide (the left having swollen shut); her cheek and shoulder pressed into rough fabric - burlap? - and her arms were pinned behind her. When she tried to move them, a familiar, cold jangle met her ears, and her wrists couldn't part ways by more than a few inches. Tight pressure around the hems of her gloves told her the rest she needed to know: shackled, like a slave, only this was worse, far too worse. She felt the first scrawling pinpricks of panic climb up inside her gut; all around, maroon and black walls, a tent, but this wasn't home, this wasn't _her_ tent, this was a foreign place, the colors of the Fire Nation pressing in from all sides.

Captured.

No, no, _no_! She couldn't be captured, she couldn't - Jet, Pipsqueak, where were they? Were they here, too? Grunting, she managed to slide her ankles beneath her, and with a great heave - body tingling and numb and sore - wrestled herself onto her knees. A quick glance around told her that she was alone in the hollowed tent, nobody and nothing to keep her company, not even so much as a cot or footlocker. That might have been weird, but there were other priorities - like her friends, and where she was, and why hadn't the Fire Nation just killed her, and, and, and -

Okay. Calm down. She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and exhaled through her nose. Maybe - maybe Jet and Pipsqueak were in different tents. Maybe they'd avoided being taken prisoner altogether. But did that make things harder, or easier? Sure, she wouldn't have any help getting out of this situation, but at least this way she'd only have to look out for herself. One step at a time, though...taking another deep breath and biting her lower lip, Smellerbee leaned forward and tried pivoting her feet - _yes_, they hadn't put shackles on her ankles! It'd take some time and balance - something her body might not be so willing to give her after last night - but with enough patience, she could get up and...

And what? Run? Sure, not a bad idea without thinking too much into it (and why would you, when it was as easy as putting one foot in front of the other?), but she doubted the Fire Nation would have left her here unattended. There'd be at least one guard outside the tent, two, depending on how much of a threat they felt she was. For their sake, they'd better've put two, 'cuz one would just be insulting.

Alright, so - time to try this. Bowing her head forward, her fringe drifting in and out of her vision, she shifted her feet so her toes pressed against the ground. Grunting again, she pressed up against the ground, rising up - up - okay, okay, good - and with a triumphant 'Aha!,' she hopped up and managed to slide her feet beneath her. A throbbing, radiating pain burst into her right knee as she stood, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out; spirits, it _hurt_ and she wobbled, balance going, going - she threw her foot out, caught herself, but the pain flared up again, and that was it, that was enough to do her in. She toppled over and landed hard on her shoulder, a bright, white explosion of pain surging out through her arm, the floor of the tent digging into her shirt sleeve.

Okay. Okay, so maybe she'd need a little time before she could stand up. Another kink in the plan. Just will it away, push yourself up and do it again -

Wait.

She shoved herself onto her knees again, quirking her head to the side - voices, three or four accompanied by scuffing footsteps, drawing closer. A small wave of nervous laughter puckered up amongst them before they fell completely silent. A few seconds later, the footsteps came to a halt outside the tent's flap, and a curt voice said, "Move. We're taking the prisoner outside."

Hmph. Okay, so - not the way she wanted to get out of here, but at least she'd be able to gauge her situation in the open.

The tent flap fluttered open, bright sunlight filtering in; Smellerbee winced and turned her head away, lips curling into a frown. "Jeez. You could at least have put the tent facing the opposite way. What, is daily blinding regulation for you assholes?"

Framed by the tent's entrance stood a Fire Nation soldier, silhouetted by the sun; he marched inside the tent and grabbed the back of Smellerbee's shirt, hoisting her up to her feet. She grit her teeth as the pain echoed through her knee, but it hurt less this time, so maybe given a few minutes, she'd be back up to snuff. Hopefully. "Get up, brat. We lost good men in your little show, and now our second in command wants to have a few words with you."

"Henh." Smellerbee tilted her head back and grinned. She couldn't see his face from this angle, but he was _definitely_ taller than the Freedom Fighter and well-built. "I'm sure he's a big, _tough_ fella."

"Yeah, you could say something like that. Get moving."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

So - this wasn't good.

Kneeling on a patch of grass, Smellerbee grit her teeth as she soaked in the ultimate visual crotch-kick splayed out before her, trying to gauge her situation.

Another slave line. They had _another_ freaking slave line, more men and women and boys and girls, caked in dirt and filth. They laid on the ground, curled up, ramshackle sheets thrown callously over them, so thin and bedraggled that they wouldn't _really_ keep out the night's chilled fingers away from them, many a raw, shivering night howling at her from the past. They'd been caged in - like animals, and treated as such - a pen of mesh wire hugging one of the nearby buildings. If experience still held true, then most of their shackles would have been undone so they could at least attempt to sleep (you never could, though), but they'd still be bound by their right ankles. And - yeah, against the rising sun, glistening on the grass, a line of chain linked one slave to the other.

It looked like the initial mission hadn't been finished yet, after all.

Five Fire Nation soldiers stood about twenty yards away, clustered in a semi-circle; they had their backs turned to the Freedom Fighter, talking quietly amongst themselves. She doubted it was out of the kindness of their hearts (a quantity she was sure matched the current ratio of Air Nomads to all other people in the world), a uniquely generous move to let their prisoners sleep in relative quiet; no, they were planning something and didn't want to be overheard. They were all enlisted men, with mostly-black armor, no face plates, and the lack of sleeves; truly the bottom rung of the Fire Nation military ladder. She could only make out the sounds of their voices buzzing; they kept their tone too quiet to be heard from this distance.

They'd brought her to a town of some kind - a garrison, which meant that she stood alone against any number of enemies, odds she wasn't particularly fond of. Most of the buildings were squat, made from wood the color of desert sand (and looked just as dry - easy to make kindling out of, she thought with a wicked smirk), unimpressive and generic; not a single blade of grass grew in the streets, or near the bunks, spreading out in a lush green blanket only beyond the town's limits, as if the thought of living vegetation disgusted these pigs so much as to physically drive it away. From here, she counted at least fifteen buildings, more lurking behind others, or out of sight (she couldn't twist her head too much without her neck squealing in protest).

So, what did this entail, then? Had the slave line the Freedom Fighters liberated last night been just one splintered unit making its way back to the garrison to join the main body? Would even more slave lines converge here? Ugh, there were too many variables. Smellerbee didn't like when situations like these weren't under her control...or at least under Jet's.

Jet. Biting down the urge to call for him, for Pipsqueak, Smellerbee swept the outfit again, her good eye narrowed, but her friends were nowhere in sight. Neither, she noted, was Hong Ye, but there were only a handful of towns near her home, and this probably wasn't one of them. How far away had they traveled since she'd been knocked out...?

Okay, Bee, think. She lowered her head and grit her teeth together. Sun's not that high up in the sky, and it's cooler than normal for a spring day. Judging by the shadows of the slaves, it's early morning...but the same morning of the battle...? They still hadn't bound her feet, so she could probably sneak away...but that'd leave the slaves to the Fire Nation. She scowled. Those people were too much like she'd been; they were in the exact same situation, and the thought of leaving them like this made a sick, burning feeling swell up in her throat. Just escaping wasn't an option.

One of the standing guards must have noticed her glancing around and pointed at her; he turned his attention to one of the lower-ranked troops, and after a hushed, short argument (she heard the senior of the two growl something like, "Get moving, fuckchop!"), sent said troop in Smellerbee's direction. The young Freedom Fighter set her face into a stony mask - which wasn't difficult, since half of it had swollen to the point where making expressions was impossible - and sized him up with her good eye.

The soldier's face, which peered out from beneath the arched rim of his helmet, was young and smooth - unmarred by battle, inexperienced. He had round, wide, almost childlike eyes, and he stooped over as he walked, as if the armor he wore was too heavy for him to bear the burden of. Judging by his posture and his hesitation upon drawing near to her, Smellerbee could tell he was afraid of her, or at the very least nervous; he had only a single stripe of maroon on his entire person, outlining his chest plate.

The soldier stopped short of the young Freedom Fighter, keeping a yard between himself and her. Not smart; he should have backed away further. He narrowed his eyes - trying to make himself appear hardened - and crossed his arms over his chest.

"So, uh...yes! You've finally woken up, I see. Welcome to your biggest nightmare. You are now a prisoner of the Fire Nation!"

Smellerbee made an internal face palm. Could this guy be any greener...?

"You will succumb to our greatness!" The young soldier continued, his voice cracking. Yeah, this guy was a rookie. Worse than that - a _rookie's_ rookie. "Tell me what you were doing three nights ago!"

"..." Smellerbee raised one eyebrow at the soldier. Well, at least he'd answered one of her questions...three nights, and she'd been out that entire time? Damn. The forest felt ages away now, like - a dream, almost, except she _knew_ that it wasn't, because Jet and Longshot and the others had all been there. "You're a dumbass."

"No, seriously...they made me stay at the rear of the line the entire time." The soldier slumped a little bit more and sighed. "Lowly Corporal Sheng, one enlisted man in a fractioned, deployed battalion, left on his own to guard our backs while everyone else entered the fray of battle. All I know is that we lost some of them and caught you instead."

The young Freedom Fighter brought her good eye up to meet the soldier's, but he had cast his gaze down to the ground; he really did look pathetic, and unless he was a great actor, he was probably telling the truth. Smellerbee was ready to dismiss him outright, when the soldier took her by surprise; the man, maybe as old as Jet, folded his legs and sat down on the grass in front of the young Freedom Fighter.

"Look, I know those guys sent me over here to guard you, but to be honest, I don't know what's going on anymore." Sheng pursed his lips and looked down at the grass to his left. His hands hung limp between his thighs, fingertips brushing the ground. "This war's driving everyone crazy. And I don't exactly approve of...that..." he hitched his head in the direction of the slaves. "Or what we're doing to you. I may not know what went on during your whole ordeal, but I have a pretty good idea."

Smellerbee set her mouth into a straight line. Where the hell is this guy going...? With a narrow eye, she tried to scrutinize Sheng further; he didn't act like anybody from the Fire Nation she'd ever encountered before, and he certainly didn't have the despicable qualities she remembered from members of their army. Jet had always gone on about how they were monsters wearing human skins, but as inspirational a leader and fantastic a person he could be, he lapsed into repetition in regards to their enemy.

_"They're vicious, cruel killers,"_ Jet had said in one of his many 'motivational speeches' to the Freedom Fighters. She could remember this night in particular; Pipsqueak had just joined the group and become part of the Core, the group of the most battle-ready of the Freedom Fighters - alongside herself, Longshot and Sneers. Several children who were too young or ill to fight perched on branches surrounding the area, listening in fascinated silence. It had also been drizzling that night, and the rain always made her wrists sore; she'd run out of salve, and had made a note to travel to Gaipan the following morning to steal more. _"A Fire Nation soldier would sooner burn down your village than look you in the eye! They've adopted a brutal animosity that only begets destruction, death and misery. It's better to fight these brutes and die than make peace with them! Sympathizing with any person from the Fire Nation is equal to betraying our Kingdom and betraying the very notion of the Freedom Fighters! We cannot, __will__ not stand for their kind here. We will fight, we will purge them, and we will help restore peace and freedom to our people!"_

Smellerbee closed her eye and exhaled through her nose. The Fire Nation were a horrible people! They'd burned down Jet and Longshot's homes, almost killed Dian...and had made a slave out of a young girl with a shaggy mop of dust-brown hair who looked more like a boy than her true gender. Still...something about Sheng...

_Sympathizing with any person from the Fire Nation is equal to betraying our Kingdom and betraying the very notion of the Freedom Fighters._ Jet's voice pulsed between her ears, and she grit her teeth to drown him out. Sheng didn't seem like a bad person...but it could still have been a ploy to get her to trust him, to give out information that she shouldn't.

"I know you're not the best person for me to talk to about this," Sheng murmured, his voice soft, "but you're the only one who'll listen. I'm - this camp is about to get seriously fubar. The others are tired of getting pushed around by the CO and his right hand, Ke, and they want to plan a coup. But they think I'm too weak - that I'll sell out to the sergeant. 'Cause I don't have a spine. Keep telling me I have a perpetual and chronic case of the dumbasses. You - you'll get to see for yourself...the enlisted man who would've interrogated you died in a training accident, and until he can find a replacement, Major Ke will handle the detail directly."

Well, talking so candidly to a prisoner of war, especially one as dangerous as Smellerbee, meant that he at least had _some_ balls...or, it just meant that he was too stupid to realize it. Probably option number two.

"Corporal!"

"Eep!" Smellerbee opened her eye to see that Sheng's own had widened; he cast a wary glance over his shoulder, to the nearest of the buildings. A higher-ranked soldier stood in the doorway, older than Sheng with a beard that ended in a sharp point with high cheeks and hard, amber eyes. Sheng shot up to his feet and made a rigid salute, kicking up a cloud of dirt, his back now to Smellerbee.

"Is the prisoner awake?" The older troop asked, his voice ragged.

"Yes, sir!" Sheng's voice cracked again. "I've tried interrogating him, but he's unresponsive, sir. All he did was call me a dumbass, sir."

This earned another internal facepalm from Smellerbee and a harsh, mean-spirited laugh from the senior troop. "If you're trying to earn brownie points with the Major, then you're out of your league...and maybe the Earth Kingdom scum has a point. Guard him for the time being; Major Ke will be over to interrogate more thoroughly in a moment."

"Y-Yes sir!"

The soldier vanished back inside the building. During the exchange, the troops near the rest of the prisoners had ceased their conversation to watch. Many of them glared at Sheng with unmasked disdain; if they were planning a coup like Sheng said, then they'd need all the manpower they could get...and Sheng's supposed cowardice would be a liability.

_You're the only person who'll listen._

Sheng's voice drowned out Jet's in Smellerbee's mind, despite the modest tone from the former and the passionate raving of the latter. As Sheng turned back around to face Smellerbee, shaking and sweating and his mouth pulled down into a grimace, the young Freedom Fighter felt not sympathy, but empathy. She knew what it was like to go unheard by people, to be ignored because she was too scrawny, too plain, and considered by many to be too obnoxious.

(That was the extent of her concern, though. This guy was still a moron.)

With a jolt, Smellerbee made the connection that had been lurking just out of her grasp, unaware that it even needed to be made. When she had joined the Freedom Fighters, she'd found Longshot; she could talk without feeling the need to fill the silence he left, and she knew that he listened no matter what she had to say. From important matters to trivial ones, the silent boy in the straw hat had always been there when she needed to speak, and in her refusal to speak to Sheng, she'd unintentionally channeled Longshot. Finally, this young, tired Fire Nation soldier found someone who would listen and remain unspoken over, even if it came in the form of an enemy.

With this revelation, all the pieces fell into place; a plan laid itself out before Smellerbee, clear as the sun lofting up in the sky. She ducked her head to hide the smirk on her face; the slaves, the Fire Nation soldiers, Sheng, herself - everyone would get what they needed or deserved. It was a win-win situation for the Freedom Fighter.

She gave an experimental shake of her wrists; the shackles they'd put on her were heavy and locked together, but a chain dangled down between them anyway - better that way then, that they hadn't been welded together directly. They didn't fit very snugly, but they weren't quite big enough to allow passage for her hands; escape would be easy, but getting there, acting under the conditions she was about to put herself into, would require all of her concentration.

Her wrists had not been crossed behind her back; she was able to maneuver the thumb of her right hand into the palm of her left. It was this technique that had allowed her to escape a life of slavery at the Fire Nation so long ago...so it would be fitting that it would come back again and allow her to flee a second time. It was just a matter of - not - _screaming_ -

Smellerbee bit down on her tongue as she wrenched her thumb out of its socket. She kicked at the ground at the same time to mask the _POP!_ the joint made; her teeth clamped down so hard that she felt blood start to well up inside her mouth, and her larynx sealed itself to prevent any noise from coming out. Pain thundered from her thumb to her shoulder and back down again, leaving jagged bolts of electricity wriggling and tingling under the skin and against the muscle.

_Don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out don't pass out don't_

Mind buzzed, throbbed like a herd of ostrich horses stampeding through her skull, between her ears, oh it hurt it -

She wobbled for a second and her head fell forward, her fringe framing her vision; she drew two deep, clench-jawed breaths before righting herself, struggling to keep her expression neutral. All Smellerbee needed to do now was wait for the right opportunity...and a weapon. That wouldn't hurt. That wouldn't...

...

"...fraid of you sir..."

"...should be...ire Nation, Corp..."

Jnuh. What? Oh - oh. The swordswoman drew another deep breath, furrowed her brow, clenched her teeth together. She _had_ passed out, that wasn't good, pulse thundered in her ears, and, and, pay _attention_, tilt your head back, Bee, open your eyes, you're not out of this just yet!

A second soldier manifested through the thick haze in her vision; standing beside Sheng, this one had at least a foot over the greenhorn, a thin moustache dangling over his lips, draping down the sides of his mouth and past his jaw line. A sharp beard jutted down from his chin, and cold, amber eyes glared down at her from over high cheek bones. The colors of his armor - black with maroon highlights and flames etched into his chest plate - indicated that he was a commissioned man, an officer. This had to be the same Major Ke that had been mentioned so often recently. So far as Fire Nation soldiers went, he could pass for intimidating...but he wasn't the first of his kind that Smellerbee'd met, and he wouldn't be the last. Just - just keep up the mask of indifference, bite down on the pain, keep it under control.

Most importantly, though...a scabbard hung from one hip, the hilt of a sword sticking out. A bastard sword, judging by the length of the scabbard...nothing fancy, but it'd be enough. Smellerbee furrowed her brow, memorizing what she could of the weapon - a blue, interwoven leather hilt, the pommel round, reflecting dull light against the sky, the scabbard green with flowing, ochre-yellow patterns dancing all the way down. It was reminiscent of plant life...that, combined with the color scheme, meant that it _had_ to be an Earth Kingdom weapon. There was no doubt about that.

Stealing it would be so much sweeter, then.

"Major Ke," Sheng stammered, standing in rigid attention. "The prisoner has come to."

Ke didn't acknowledge the young soldier; instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and glowered at her, his gaze sharp and piercing, like a superheated rapier. Using the Longshot mask against this one would be a futile effort; he'd see right through it, and stoicism could only get you so far. Her plan needed something more fiery, something razor-edged and lethal.

"This is the brat that cost us an entire line Earth Kingdom slaves?" Ke's voice had a low, gravelly quality to it; it was kinda disappointing how predictable that was, when set alongside his appearance. "This bag of smashed asshole?"

"Good morning to you too, Sunshine." Smellerbee smirked, and oh _man_ it was so hard to keep from wincing, bite down on that pain, don't let it take you down again. "I had some help holding you jerkbellies off, but I was the one to set the prisoners free. Kind of a sad day for the Fire Nation when an eleven-year-old manages to stay outta your grasp long enough to pull off a stunt like that."

"Hmph." Ke snorted and shook his head. "That smart-ass attitude won't get you far in the mines, boy. You'd be lucky to survive a day."

Smellerbee's right hand throbbed, and she could feel an unusual heat rising up in her palm; the hand might swell up soon if she wasn't quick enough. She couldn't risk acting prematurely, though...just, wait for the right moment. _That_ was A Longshot Thing that she could keep with her. Closing her eye and crooking her head to one side, she felt her smirk curl with a cocky flair. "The mines couldn't hold me when I was a kid. I don't think they could do it again." She turned her attention back to the man, her lips peeling back -

- Ke's foot flew faster than Smellerbee could keep up with, arching out at her from her blind side. A burst of pain blossomed on her ribcage, sending her sprawling sideways, jarring her right arm and causing her to hiss. With a low grunt, she struggled and pushed herself back up into a kneeling position, glaring up at Ke again.

"What is this, a test of manliness?" She coughed and felt her cheeks tingle as the grin pulled back on her face once more, a coppery taste welling up over her tongue. She swilled it around, keeping it tucked in her right cheek for later. "Big bad Major Ke - an officer pulling an enlisted man's job - bludgeoning a kid who has his wrists tied behind his back. My leader was right, the Fire Nation _are_ brutes." She locked his gaze again, baring her teeth; she could see the sparks, embers flickering behind that cold, amber facade. She'd cast out the first of the bait, and he'd bitten into it; a little more goading and she'd be exactly where she needed him to be.

(Normally the gender-confusing thing bugged her...but perhaps it was better for them to think she was a boy in this case. She'd let it slide. This time.)

"Tchee..." Though Smellerbee didn't dare break eye contact with Ke, she could hear Sheng mewl and saw him shrink away; she knew she'd hit a sour note, and confirmed this fact when Ke struck her again, this time on the right side of the face. The blow sent her toppling over again, and this time she cried out - okay, landed on the left arm, that was okay, but it still _hurt_, pain throbbing up and down and up and it had no _outlet_. The metallic tang in her mouth increased in concentration, and Smellerbee grinned again despite herself.

"Your leader is an idiot." Ke was doing a pretty good job of keeping his tone in check, but he'd already lashed out at Smellerbee twice - that was more than enough of a sign that things had begun to swing her way. "He's blind to the Fire Nation's greatness, and it's obvious he's passed that same ignorance onto you. We're saving these Earth Kingdom pissants from themselves by allowing them to work towards our glory - a glory we'll share with all four - ahem, _three_ - nations."

Smellerbee shifted her weight and managed once more to hoist herself into a kneeling position; she chuckled, her cheek and arm and ribs pulsating with heat and crackling with pain. She closed her mouth and inhaled deeply through her nose, followed by a loud hawk; she launched a sickly, red loogey at the Fire Nation soldier, and for a moment she could see the globule in the air - oblong and lumpy and hooked at one end - before it impacted on Ke's cheek. It clung there for a second before sliding down through the lines of his face, a semi-transparent crimson river crawling through the sluices in his skin.

Time had a funny way of slowing down and speeding up during crucial moments; here and now, it felt like things had come to a complete halt, and Smellerbee could feel everyone's attention on her and the affronted Major. The Earth Kingdom prisoners had since woken up and bore witness to the spectacle; the officers who had emerged from the buildings to watch the interrogation as well as the enlisted ones who were more interested in keeping tabs on Sheng's performance also saw the atrocity the young tomboy had committed against Ke. Smellerbee felt her grin grow vicious and wild, beyond her control - the situation had _officially _snowballed.

Perfect.

"Jet," Smellerbee said, her voice turning rough and contemptuous, "is a hero to the Earth Kingdom. We Freedom Fighters save people like them - " a jerk of the head to the slaves, " - from animals like you. Your greatness, your glory, has caused the Earth Kingdom nothing but strife and suffering! It's getting so bad that even your enlisted are gonna stage a coup against you and your CO."

The Avatar, going on a century unseen, may as well have walked into the clearing right then and there, so thunderstruck were Smellerbee's captors; gray, tumultuous clouds began to roll across the sky from the west, and distant thunder rolled between the two sundered groups of Fire Nation soldiers. The enlisted men glared, mostly at Sheng, while the officers cast furious expressions at their juniors; the situation had just gone live, a barrel full of blasting jelly with a lit fuse. Sheng quaked at the attention given to him by his peers, his armor clattering, a loud, obnoxious intrusion on the sudden silence cast over the camp.

The Earth Kingdom slaves trembled, shrinking back with wide eyes and mouths pinched shut, and Smellerbee knew their train of thought, so familiar with it herself...a man like Ke would take his frustrations out on his targets first, and then the easiest to bully second. The slaves had been in the line long enough to be familiar with the fact, and - and that made Smellerbee quake, the lava finally burbling up to the surface again. To top it all off, though - her wrists began to burn, not because of the dislocated thumb, but because of the rain, pending, ready to fall in a moment's notice.

Of everyone assembled, though, only Ke kept his eyes on Smellerbee, and the Freedom Fighter responded with a short, harsh laugh. "Kinda funny, huh? Finding out that your _enlisted_ plan on overturning you?"

"Ohhh, this just turned into a bag of dicks," Sheng murmured, face going pale.

"Who relayed this to you?" Ke demanded, his voice low and dangerous, ignoring Smellerbee's taunting - but that was okay, he'd already fallen into her control, and all her goading did now was serve to amuse and empower her. She'd make sure the guy felt this in the morning. "Where's your proof?"

"Him." Smellerbee nodded at Sheng, and the soldier's eyes went so wide that he was surprised they didn't pop right out of his head. "He told me their plans...and how he was going to heroically sabotage the operation to ensure the 'greatness' of Major Ke's slaving company. The man might be a moron, but I guess he knows power where he sees it."

Finally - for the first time Smellerbee knew - Ke turned and addressed poor Sheng, quivering and trembling and an eyesore contrasted to, well _everything_. Barely a man, a coward, inept at most everything - and the swordswoman didn't need to know him that intimately to figure _that_ out. "Is this true, Corporal?"

"I - I - well, y-you see, I - "

Ke's voice rose an octave, his face turning a bright shade of scarlet - guy was _cheesed_. "_Is this true?_"

"Y-y-y - " Sheng cast a glance over his shoulder, his face going pale; his peers scowled and clenched their teeth and narrowed their eyes, giving tell after tell that they were nothing but guilty. Smellerbee didn't need insight to see the gears churning in Sheng's head, trying to figure out what the best course of action would be to take; the Freedom Fighter only hunched over, stifling a victorious smirk. Sheng could _probably_ tell that, no matter what he did, he'd be screwed...but if he sided with Ke, then at least he'd have somebody big to hide behind. She gave him a few seconds - saw him clench his hands into fists, setting his jaw and narrowing his eyes.

Good. He had some resolve, at least.

"Yes, sir." He drew a low breath through his nose. "I wanted to keep it anonymous - but I guess there's no point now. I wanted to keep things from getting fumtu for the sake of your glory and that of the Fire Nation."

Ke gauged Sheng, and to the younger troop's credit, he kept his face cast in stone and did not avert his gaze from his superior; a moment passed, and another crack of thunder struck, closer and closer still, putting an exclamation mark on the tension clogging the air. A slight breeze picked up, and Smellerbee the sores on her wrist flared, a razor blade's radiating slice against her skin. The rain would come soon, and it would come in gales.

At last, Ke nodded and patted Sheng on the shoulder, causing the boy to flinch. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet, Corporal. Or, for your loyalty, perhaps it's Lieutenant Sheng...?"

...wow, what a dirtbag. Smellerbee might not be as brushed up on military conduct and history as Sneers or Skillet, but she knew that a Major did _not_ have the power to provide a field commission for _anyone_, let alone the pathetic bag of meat wearing Fire Nation armor standing before him. The Freedom Fighter doubted Ke would even bother bringing it up with the company's CO, just as soon preferring to leave Sheng in obscurity. The kid would probably just lie down and let it happen, too - but as it stood, he looked more aghast at the notion than surprised or pleased.

_"This war's driving everyone crazy. And I don't exactly approve of...that...or what we're doing to you."_

Sheng's voice pierced her thoughts again, and Smellerbee drew a sharp, cold breath; she'd heard of, had experienced Fire Nation sympathizers in the past, and to Jet they were as bad as the Fire Nation itself...but not once had she ever crossed paths with a Fire Nation man that sympathized with the Earth Kingdom.

Ke brought his gaze up from Sheng, to the cluster of enlisted standing guard at the slave line, his mouth set into a vicious scowl. Other enlisted had long since emerged from their holes, no less exempt than their peers, standing so rigidly as to feel Ke's passive fury. "Alright, fuckchops. You've got one chance to fix the collective case of cranial rectosis you've diagnosed yourselves with." Ke threw a gloved hand at the slaves, who shrunk back from the motion. "If you don't, then a dishonorable discharge will be the least of your problems."

Smellerbee's grin grew even wider as she ducked her head down. Every enlisted Fire Nation troop had his gaze focused on his comrades, some too green to know better than to give in, others being too proud to truly want the surrender Ke demanded, while the rest cowered, almost ready to buckle if it meant guaranteeing their lives. With everyone's attention away from her, the Freedom Fighter finally found the moment she'd been waiting for; slipping her right hand from the shackles, careful not to agitate the dislocated thumb, she clenched her jaw and smirked. She kept her hands behind her back because she still needed the opportunity to strike, waiting, waiting...

"We're through taking smoke from you, Ke!" One of the enlisted finally stepped forward, pointing at Ke and scowling beneath his beard. "We're not afraid to put you under."

A sinister smirk curled on Ke's lips, and the first fat, cold drops of rain began to patter the ground, sizzling on the dirt and shuddering as it pelted the soldiers' armor. "Excellent."

Ke punched at the air, sending a fireball at the bearded troop.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Time sped up again, this time going too fast - the commissioned troops engaged with the enlisted, lunging at each other, Firebending and scorching the ground, the sky with their attacks, trails of fire and smoke searing the air, making it reek of burnt ozone. They'd all but forgotten about her, and _that_ was what she'd been anticipating, ready to pounce, to strike; she sprang up to her feet and slipped her hand free of the shackles, startling Sheng. He'd hung back from the battle and threw his hands up, a poor defensive bid, but he didn't matter anymore, and Smellerbee rushed past him, diving head-first into the fray.

Ducking, juking and avoiding blows and fire coming from all directions, Smellerbee kept her eyes out for the flame-crested chest piece that signified her target. She was fortunate to be so small; the Fire Nation troops largely ignored her, and those that did try to attack missed entirely, blistering smears of fire lashing her way, only to soar overhead, their heat radiating off her back, her hair, stinging one of the other soldiers. Come on, come on, come on - where _was_ he? Her lungs and wrists and hand and arm burned, her legs stiff from kneeling for so long, and she had to keep her right hand close to her chest or else risk jarring it against one of the nameless, faceless bodies warring around her.

Clashes of maroon, of black, of flesh, of white, of red and orange and yellow - the rain hammered down harder, now, pelting her, sizzling as it evaporated against her enemies' fire, plinking and thunking and strumming on the armor, all around, all sides, a few huge, cold drops pelted her scalp, going past the shaggy disaster of her hair...and, and, ugh, getting tired already, too much exertion after being hurt so badly, if this weren't her only chance, if she had enough strength to reset her thumb without passing out, this would have been a really dumb idea - but she didn't have that resolve -

Ah! There! Ke's scabbard bobbed into sight, green and ochre and too organic for anybody of the Fire Nation to appreciate. Wrapping her left hand around the hilt, Smellerbee drew it in a silver crescent flash, bright and shimmering even when reflecting the gray sky; the sword's tip dug into a gap in Ke's armor, cutting clean through flesh, a spray of crimson shooting up to join the mesh of color and rain and death raging on around her. The man disappeared from sight before she could see if he fell, absorbed by the writhing battle; that didn't matter, though, because now she was in possession of her prize, and the Freedom Fighter scurried away from the battle, keeping herself as miniscule as possible.

"What are you doing?" Sheng yelled at her as she emerged from the side of the brawl (how the hell had he gotten here?), a little singed, hair stiff and damp at the same time, but mostly unscathed. His eyes had gone wide, but not with fury - rather with something alien and familiar all at once that Smellerbee couldn't quite place in the heat of battle, in her need to draw blood. "Are you crazy?"

"Maybe," Smellerbee murmured. "But I also only have one good hand right now and I need two to pick locks, so the sword will have to do." She tightened her grip on the handle and surged to the pen holding the slaves, keeping close to the ground, Sheng at her heels. "Was I the only one you guys captured?"

"Yes! I heard there were others with you, but they'd escaped before anyone could track them down."

She sighed, relief threatening to overtake her, a tingling, jostling sensation in her gut that risked quelling the fire of combat. She shoved it aside, she could celebrate later, that she didn't have to worry about Jet or Pipsqueak, because right now she needed to be focused, sharp, and the flames raging in her stomach, her chest, her head, were just the things that honed her.

She stopped short of the cage and lashed out with the sword; she sliced clean through the lock, sending up a shower of sparks, before kicking the door open. She approached the Earth Kingdom slaves, shackled together by the ankles, their blankets soaked and discarded and useless now; the nearest one, a young girl that could barely have been the same age as Dian-from-three-days-ago, looked up at Smellerbee with wide eyes shimmering with - hope, with adoration. From where Smellerbee had been kneeling, she could tell that these slaves had given up...had resigned themselves to their new, destitute lives, but already, in this downpour, in this impromptu civil war, that hope had returned to them, because they had an _out_ now. "You're going to free us?" The girl chirped, a wide smile pulling up on her face.

"Yeah." Smellerbee allowed a soft smile. Turning her attention to the slaves in general, she called out, "Get far apart from your neighbors, people! I'll need as much tension as you can give me to slice through the chains."

The Freedom Fighter brought the sword up as the little girl and the person in front of her stood apart, the chain tying them going taut; ugh, if she hadn't been so drained, hefting this up one-handed wouldn't have been a problem, but already exhaustion had started to settle in on her, scooping huge divots of _tired_ behind her eyes, and her grip on the weapon shook - this wouldn't work, she didn't have the strength to -

"Stop."

Smellerbee glanced to her left - Sheng stood there, eyebrows arched and mouth set into a thin line against his chubby face.

"Let me help," he murmured, leaning in close to Smellerbee. "Ke is insane and...I want out of _that_" He waved a hand towards the brawl, a frown creasing his face.

Great, just what she needed...moral quandaries from the enemy. Though it wasn't like she'd be able to cut all these chains by herself...ugh, okay, consider the bitter pill swallowed. Clenching her jaw - because saying this so willingly would probably cause her head to explode if she didn't - she growled, "Fine - if you're a Firebender, go melt the chains up ahead, but be fast and try not to scare anyone."

"I'll do you one better." Sheng's round face broke out in a grin, and he slid two keys out from a chink of armor on his side. He offered one up to Smellerbee, preening. "I managed to get these off Sergeant Oku's, um, body. This way we get it done fast without endangering the prisoners."

Smellerbee blinked, felt her jaw go slack; how had this idiot managed to adapt himself so well...? She would have laughed if her mind wasn't moving two steps ahead and threatening to cave in on itself from the exertion.

"Okay, whatever, just go!" She dropped the sword and plucked the key he'd been offering her from his hands; he nodded wordlessly and ran up to the head of the line. Smellerbee turned to the girl again, kneeling down beside her; seconds later, she was free, and like Dian before her, she flung her arms around the Freedom Fighter (_ow ow ow thumb_) and waited for the rest to join her. Maybe one of them was family. Who knew? It didn't matter at this point, come on, come on, just _go_, rain coming down in buckets, just, just nonstop, wet, heavy, her hair weighed a hundred pounds, clothes soaked, so...

She had maybe five slaves set free by the time Sheng caught up to her; ugh, the rain, the fight, her thumb, she was on the brink of going under again, mind buzzed, and Sheng passed by her, started working back from the tail of the line, and...

Rain - so thick, so hard to see anything, sheets of the damn stuff pissing down on all sides, the fight barely visible now - just dull, dark shapes moving clumsily in the distance, the occasional feeble flare lighting up the air before extinguishing. Lightning pierced the sky, and, ugh -

"Let's move out!"

Smellerbee furrowed her brow - the key, the key wasn't fitting _in_, why wouldn't it go in the lock -

A hand on her shoulder, and she sagged, drooping beneath its weight, beneath the stress, and Sheng leaned forward, he, he undid the last lock, sent the slave on his way. Droplets of rain bounced off his helmet and armor, rolling down his body in sleek trails. He looped one arm around her back, helping her get to her feet - she stumbled a bit, caught herself, and turned a groggy eye towards this idiot, this nothing of a man. "I can take you back in the direction we came from after we caught you last night!"

Smellerbee frowned, distantly realizing that she was not surprised in the least; she hadn't actively predicted Sheng would say something like that, but it kinda made sense when the whole thing had been spelled out the way it had. All that was left to do was follow through the motions. "You're seriously deserting?" She murmured, trying to rediscover her land legs.

"Hearing what you said - about your leader...I think he has the right idea." Sheng seemed to stand taller than he had before, and he didn't look as feeble; Smellerbee could see the spark of purpose in his eyes. "I'm going to lead you back home. Maybe we can speak to this Jet of yours and see if I can join your group."

The mention of Jet's name made Smellerbee crumble a little bit. Sheng didn't know what had happened three nights ago beyond the barest facts, so for all the swordswoman knew, Jet could very well be dead...but there was no way of knowing unless she made it back to the forest. Getting Jet to accept Sheng would be a miracle in and of itself, but...after spending the last half hour planning ahead and playing her Pai Sho tiles just right, her head hurt. One hurdle at a time...for now, just focus on getting home.

"Alright." She sighed; she wouldn't make it very far in this condition without him, and it burned just to admit that, even silently. Grumbling, she pulled away from the Fire Nation..._ex_-Fire Nation soldier, swayed once, caught herself - and snorted. "Just stay close."

Sheng beamed, and the two youths turned, vanishing into the downpour.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

Smellerbee felt a long-held breath leave her lips, billowing out into the darkness. She could see nothing, but her eyes were wide nonetheless; on that rainy day so long ago, Smellerbee had done the unthinkable - sympathized with the enemy, a round-faced Fire Nation soldier, even though Jet would have considered that as good as treason. Sheng's willingness to help her, even though she'd essentially hung him out to dry, brought back a lot of memories - the days spent lost with the Fire Nation boy, trying to find a way home, not to mention the wonderful cold she caught from after soaking in the rain forever and ever...and a _lot_ of pain.

Like resetting that dislocated thumb.

"Longshot." Her voice came out hushed; she felt dizzy, dumb for not thinking of this sooner. "I know how we can get out of this."

Henh? Sorry, he'd dozed off again. What did she have in mind...?

"I - I'll be okay. Just fair warning, though...I'm going to scream, so don't worry about me, okay? I'll get you out in a few minutes, I promise."

Smellerbee's left hand wandered over to her right thumb. She wrapped her fingers around the digit, clenched her jaw, and pulled.


	4. Book 1, Chapter 4

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 1: A Fight for Survival**

**Chapter 4: Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-1-4-128200260

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Ungh - ow. Smellerbee's eyelids slid open, but - of course there wasn't anything there, just umbra, an inky darkness so deep that she couldn't even see her legs. Her head thrummed, buzzed, and thunder pounded through her arm, striking down to the marrow of her bones and back again, and, and - the world felt _fuzzy_ around her, and her breath came out hot and low, lungs rattling. Had she passed out...?

Come on, come on - was she there? Smellerbee, answer! Was she okay?

Longshot.

"I'm sorry - I'm awake - how long was I...?"

Thank the Spirits...she couldn't have worried him even more if she tried. Even without having to see him, Smellerbee could imagine the relief ghosting across his face, how he'd sigh and hang his head and look at her with those chocolate eyes of his, the light sparkling inside them.

Longshot didn't know exactly how long she'd been unconscious...but he figured five minutes.

Five...? Dammit - that was too long! They'd already been low on time, and now - ugh, okay, stop. Calm down. Focus, Bee, focus. Wincing, grunting, Smellerbee shifted her right hand to her left, even the chain jangling against her wrist bringing low throbs of superheated agony. Okay, okay...she clasped the shackle with her free hand and withdrew the right, sighing. That was the first step done and out of the way, but the hard part hadn't even started yet. She didn't have the benefit of Sheng's key to unlock the last shackle, and she risked losing her bobby pin if she tried fumbling with it between her fingertips; if the instrument fell from her hands and plunged into the darkness, the only course of action would be to dislocate her left thumb as well. She couldn't reset that one on her own, and doubted Longshot would be able to help her that much.

There had really only been one course of action to follow the initial dislocation anyway.

Taking her right thumb in hand, she clasped it tight between her fingers - drew a deep breath, it _hurt_ so much to just touch it - and, and, don't _think_ about it, just reset the damn thing -

Fire surged through her arm again and she screamed once more, too tired - too hungry - to try and hold it in. As her pulse rose to a deafening volume inside her ears, she felt the world swimming around, beneath her, she would black out again, and she, she didn't have that time, she felt something stinging her eyes, warm and wet and sliding across her cheeks, and. It was back in place, that was all that mattered, now stop dicking around at get back to business - they had a time limit, they had to survive, they had to - to move. To keep living. That's what being a Freedom Fighter entailed. Stand against the odds and spit in their faces. Her wrists still alight with razor slices of fire, the rain still fell outside, which meant their air supply grew more scarce by the second, and - that kept her afloat, it slapped her awake. Too much was on the line to pass out. Seething, forcing hot, ragged breaths through her teeth, Smellerbee flexed the thumb to restore some other sensation to it aside from the physical anguish. Good, it still...still worked, good, good...drawing another breath, hot and cold at the same time, she brought her freed hand up to her mouth and clamped her teeth around one of the fingers; she pulled, freeing her hand, it'd be easier to find the pin and lock this way. With her fingers free, she dug into the cuff of her left glove; her fingers brushed against the bumpy, narrow metal - hahaha, the Dai Li hadn't bothered to search her at all, had they...? - and withdrew the pin.

Throughout the noise, Longshot remained dutiful and silent; Smellerbee yielded herself to a small smile. The older Freedom Fighter knew his friend was capable of handling herself, a staunch independent streak that she'd had ever since the two had met so long ago. Coddling just wasn't allowed when it came to her, and it was part of a mutual respect they'd developed over time. He didn't baby her; she didn't treat his silence as a handicap.

It took a couple more seconds to find the lock mechanism in the shackle; Smellerbee ran the tips of her pointer and index fingers along the cold, rough metal, a featherlight comb looking for the right indentation. Dammit, could they have made it any harder to get a hold of...? Friggin - wait - there! A slight divot, the edges pressing into her fingertip. The key hole. A victorious smirk pulled back on her mouth, and she plunged the pin in, jiggling it around experimentally.

She'd done this a hundred and five-million times before this...but every lock was different from the other, and not being able to see was throwing her off. Not like it ought to have made a difference, because it was more of an audible thing than not, but...

"Come on...come on, you stupid..."

The clicking noise made by the lock opening reverberated off the narrow walls of the prison chamber, and Smellerbee felt a giddy - and heaven forbid, a touch girly - laugh bubble up to the surface. She brought her left arm close, finally, rubbing the wrist in her right hand, grateful for the newfound, albeit limited freedom she had discovered.

"I did it. I did it! Longshot, I did it!"

She could _hear_ Longshot smirking, his pride was so permeable; Longshot's smirks were different from Jet's, because while Jet's had been roguish and wild, Longshot's always carried a hint of mischief and joy. If Smellerbee could see the archer right now, his eyes - deep and brown, warm, chocolate - would sparkle with those same sensations.

As proud as he was, though...they needed to hurry.

Smellerbee nodded - remembered the umbra - and muttered, "Yeah. You're right. Okay." She pushed up to her feet - winced as every joint and muscle popped and screamed in protest, she'd been sitting on the cold, rugged floor for...spirits, _how_ long, now, she couldn't tell. Her back barked at her, stiff and sore and ringing with tension. She slipped the pin back into her glove and grabbed the one she'd discarded, tugging it back on, the fabric brushing her sores and making her wince.

The swordswoman make her way forward with her hands extended, using them in a vain attempt to push back the murk enclosed about her. Taking slow, careful strides, making sure she found even footing with each step, it took Smellerbee only five paces to find her cage. She remembered, it felt so long ago now, that the lock to the cage was level with her chest when standing; keeping her hands straight out, she brushed against the metal bars, feeling, blind, for the square, rough box that both trapped her and signified a step closer to liberation.

"It's funny," Smellerbee murmured, sweeping off to her left to find the lock. "I never figured that being a 'Freedom Fighter' meant fighting _blindness_ for the sake of our own freedom. Fire Nation and Dai Li? Bring 'em on. But I don't like not being able to see."

That friend of Aang - what was her name, Toph? The one that hadn't been there when they'd met Aang back ho - back in the forest. She'd been able to see the Dai Li's secret tunnel entrance underwater, and she was blind...one helluva Earthbender. Longshot wouldn't have minded having that sort of skill.

"Yeah. I wouldn't mind having that, either. Aha!" Where the gap between the bars should have appeared, the metal only dipped a bit without vanishing; in the center of this gap fill was the locking mechanism, another divot slightly larger than the one from her shackles. Withdrawing the pin again, Smellerbee worked quickly and carefully to undo the lock, using only the slight rattles and clicks to guide her way. Just...okay, that was another click, almost there, almost...

The bars shifted under her weight as she pressed against it, and another smile prickled her cheeks; the bars creaked and swung partway open, catching on the debris in the center of the room, emitting a raucous squeal. Rocks had tumbled inward when the Dai Li collapsed the area around the two Freedom Fighters, keeping her from opening her cell any wider, so Smellerbee didn't bother to force them any further. She slunk to the open end of the cage, being more wary than before of her footing so as not to stumble over any stray rocks that had spilled inside.

It only took a few moments of fumbling, but finally she found the edge of the cage; the opening was narrow, but she should be able to fit...for once she was grateful for her lanky, awkward, decidedly-not-feminine frame. Just a matter of sliding her shoulder through, arching her back, and -

Dammit. Her leather chest piece caught on the door's edge, adding just enough depth to her body to make the escape impossible; grunting and dropping another curse, Smellerbee pushed herself back into the cage and reached behind herself, fingers fumbling, finding the straps that held it in place. A little finagling, and...yeah, there. She felt the armor fall from her body, her chest and stomach brushed by the cool backdraft as it dropped away into the abyss. It landed with a heavy _plop!_ at her feet, but for all Smellerbee knew or cared, the item was lost forever; as she pushed her way between the rocky debris and the barred door, all she could really think about the armor was how she never really cared for how it made her look potbellied. Even though it had been a gift from Jet. Even though Jet was gone and all that Smellerbee had left of him now was Longshot and her memories. Even though the armor held so _many_ of those memories.

There were other priorities. As backwards as it sounded, the future came before the past.

She at last wriggled free of the smaller of the two prisons holding her with a victorious grunt, the metal pressing against her body, crushing her ribs. She didn't go back for the armor, it wasn't important right now; a small voice in the back of her head hissed, _traitor_, but she pushed it away by muttering, "It's time to move on."

Longshot's lock would easier to find and open as Smellerbee settled into the alien concept of blind lock picking; only the journey between her cage and his would been difficult, as the rocks had scattered from one end of the room to the other. She stuck close to her cage, forcing it back into place so she'd have more leg room before sidling into the center; the rocks had been smaller there, pebbles, really, but even one misstep could result in a sprained ankle and thus make Smellerbee's efforts that much harder. Yet all the while she felt herself grinning uncontrollably, because this was the big step, she'd freed herself and she'd liberate Longshot, and from there - well, the more daunting task of figuring out how to get out of the remains of the collapsed tunnel. One task at a time.

Crossing the threshold of the hallway, Smellerbee felt her way to Longshot's cage; her heartrate picked up, oh man, oh man, they were almost _out_! So hard not to be giddy, and she felt more than heard a low giggle (a giggle!) rise up from her chest and escape past her lips.

Brushing the cage again - would Longshot's lock be on the opposite side of hers...? Probably, that seemed more like regulation - she murmured, "I can't _wait_ to get outta this shit hole, Longshot."

Heh. Yeah, him neither.

There - the lock mechanism again, the divot, the pin - it only took a couple seconds this time around, and her cheeks tingled, grin widening as it clicked and the door yowled open, screeching in her ears. Smellerbee walked inside - not having to squirm and wriggle like a trapped koi to get past Longshot's cage - and made her way to where he sat. She could hear him breathing in the darkness, long, calm breaths through his nose; if she hadn't known better, Longshot's silence seemed to come more from a refusal to simply open his mouth than whatever tragedy may or may not have occurred in his past. Sometimes, Smellerbee would tease him because of it; even in his sleep, the archer breathed through his nose, and rarely did anyone see the flash of white hidden by his lips.

Caught up in her thoughts, Smellerbee finally forgot to watch her footing; she stepped on a rock that felt like the size of her fist, her heel catching the rock's narrow end and sending her stumbling. She threw her arms out instinctively, let out a small "Whoop!", her other leg shooting forward to catch herself; a futile effort, though, as collapsed forward onto Longshot, the impact jarring her, her face pressed into his chest. He grunted, but didn't complain - and, and, well, it was hard for her to disagree.

For a long, awkward moment, all Smellerbee knew was Longshot's scent and body heat; he smelled like home. Not the odor of mold, dusty wood, and unkempt stone from their dingy apartment in Ba Sing Se's Lower Ring, or the reek of musty, stale, deathly air in this godforsaken prison, but like honey and cinnamon and burning leaves in the fall. Hong Ye Forest, where the Freedom Fighters made their home with all the orphaned children the Fire Nation had left behind, with Pipsqueak and The Duke and Sneers and Skillet and Jet. The scent surrounded him, like an aura - like a feeling of safety. The fabric of Longshot's mantle was rough on Smellerbee's cheek, and the younger Freedom Fighter could feel herself blushing, a liquid warmth rising up in her cheeks. Longshot's heart thumped in his chest, and he swallowed nervously, and she could feel it through the side of her face, his breath on her hair, and -

"Er - er." When Smellerbee realized she had not yet done so, she pushed herself away from Longshot with a sheepish laugh, crouching down on her haunches. "Sorry. Tripped. L-let's get you out of here. Gimme your hands." She heard his chains jangle as he offered her his wrists, and felt around for them - found them, her fingertips brushing his palms, and for the second time she found heat rushing up to her cheeks, and, what the _hell_ was making her feel like this, anyway? She grinned despite herself and shook her head, trying to push these weird sensations away as she felt around for the lock on his left hand. She singled it out on the outside of his wrists like it had been with hers, and felt her tongue poke out of the corner of her mouth as she started to work on the mechanism.

"I don't think I've picked so many locks so quickly since we botched that slave rescue mission," she muttered. Even without any light, she knew he'd nodded in return, his long, narrow head moving up and down so minutely that anyone who didn't know to read him wouldn't have seen it.

Longshot's shackles clattered open in record time, and Smellerbee felt a sense of pride welling up inside of her; Longshot brought his arms together, rubbing his wrists tenderly. She had done it - she'd gotten them both out of the shackles and cages. That giddy, nigh-girlish sensation bubbled up inside her again, and she grinned at him through the void, wide and ecstatic and, and, _awesome_. All that was left, really, was escaping from the collapsed hallway itself, and if they could get outta the cages, then they could do _anything_.

"Come on," Smellerbee said, reaching out - fumbling, eventually finding and grabbing Longshot's arm. She helped heft him to his feet, and felt light, strong..._alive_, moreso than she had in the past three weeks, ever since arriving in Ba Sing Se. Despair and hopelessness vanished, now that she and Longshot had a chance at escaping -

She didn't get even a step away before Longshot took her back - drew her in close - and wrapped his arms around the young Freedom Fighter, pulling her in tight. His scent flooded her again, and she felt herself drowning in it - the safety, the familiarity of their old home - and blushed for the third time, her arms pinned to her sides.

He bowed his head forward and rested it on Smellerbee's shoulder, the younger Freedom Fighter too stunned to return the embrace. Longshot's message came through as clear as ever, even though neither could see each other in this murk. Smellerbee felt her eyes stinging and closed them tight.

Thank you.

...wow, just...all she could do was bury her face into his chest. "It's okay. We're alive. You're welcome, you're so welcome..." Smellerbee's voice came out hushed and wobbling; normally, under any other circumstances, she'd mentally curse herself at the involuntary betrayal of weakness, but...this was Longshot, and Longshot never judged her, no matter what happened. "We've got to survive. We need to, or else Jet would never f-forgive us." She chuckled, her voice hitching as she did. Stop it, Bee. Don't cry, not now...

Something warm and wet rolled down her cheek, despite her force of will - and for a second, Bee thought she had let the tears fall anyway...but the sensation only dotted the left side of her face, and then repeated itself. It was only when she felt Longshot's body quaking underneath his tunic did she realize that _he_ was the one crying, his breath washing over her in short, hot bursts. Another tear landed on her cheek, and Smellerbee's mouth curled into a deep, uncontrollable scowl. Longshot's tears broke down the last barrier keeping hers from flowing, and she buried her face into Longshot's mantle as they ran.

She finally found the nerve to bring her arms up and wrap them around Longshot's back, awkward and nervous. Resting her hands between and below his shoulder blades, she could feel the bones of his spine and ribs as he shuddered, even through the rough fabric of his tunic. He had always been skinny, but food had been scarce in Ba Sing Se, and going even longer without eating down here did nothing for his frame. As the two Freedom Fighters clung to each other, Smellerbee rubbed Longshot's back, his tunic rough even beneath gloved hands. They were all they had left now; the Creed had always said that Freedom Fighters were family in the face of nothing else, but never was it more true than now.

"Shhh...shh-shhh..." Smellerbee sniffled, her eyes squeezed shut. She tried to keep her voice steady, to reignite Longshot's familiar, stoic courage. "We're alive. It's okay. I almost gave up hope too...so, so many times. But we got out, we're okay, and now all we need to do is bust outta here."

Longshot squeezed Smellerbee a little bit tighter; the swordswoman clenched her teeth and fought back against a sob rising up in her throat. She released her grip on Longshot and placed her hands on his arms, wrapping her gloved fingers around his sleeves.

"Jet's gone," she whispered, her voice so quiet that, if they hadn't been alone, nobody else would've been able to hear. "We need to keep strong now so we can say goodbye when we're not in danger. Okay?"

Against Smellerbee's shoulder, Longshot nodded. He patted her twice on the back and released her, allowing her to lead him out of his cell.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

A quick stop at the air hole - a brick-sized rectangular hole set into the ground - confirmed Smellerbee's fear. The path had indeed flooded to the point where no air could enter, and it lit a much-needed fire under the swordswoman's ass. She pushed another curse past her teeth, a vile one Skillet would have been proud of before straightening herself. "It's already blocked; I can't feel any air flowing through. We gotta hurry. You go check that wall - "

Which _one_?

Ugh. "It doesn't matter. Go check a wall, see if the stones are loose enough to move. I'll go to whichever one you don't."

Alright, alright...she heard him picking his way across the rubble, and Smellerbee got up, turned the opposite direction...they had to move fast, though, and as soon as she reached her wall, she started to examine it with only their hands as judges. It took a few seconds - every one spanning out far too long for her liking, felt like a minute, air hot and thinning, her mind starting to numb and go dizzy. Most of them didn't budge, but - she placed her hand against one of the rocks, larger than her head, and, yes! It shifted under her weight, and even though it didn't come all the way loose, the crumbling sound of further rocks shifting behind it felt like a godsend.

"Longshot! I found one! It feels like it's ready to give way, and there's a bunch of loose ones stuck behind it."

Ah! Great; the rocks on his side were really small and tightly packed; even if they did manage to dig a hole through it, the water would rush in so fast that it'd turn them into a mortar shell that'd pummel the pair to death. It'd be better to go with the bigger rocks...they'd be heavier, wouldn't have as much force of impact because they'd sink too fast.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Let's play it as safe as we can." She heard Longshot turn, the heels of his boots scraping the ground, the scent of must growing stronger, her lungs rattling as time petered out.

She'd already begun clambering up the slope by the time he reached her; she positioned herself over the loose stone and kicked at it, two, three, four times before it dislodged itself, clattering down to the floor. Perfect, perfect, _perfect_! Excitement started to bubble up in her chest, and she clambered back down to stand beside Longshot. Wordlessly - because they didn't need to say anything, really - they both started digging, pulling, this was going to work, it would _work_, and they'd get out, they'd beat the odds like Freedom Fighters were supposed to, because it was just the way of things for them.

With a fierce, newfound determination to live, Smellerbee and Longshot began to clear away the debris.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot felt a smile curl on his lips; Smellerbee took charge like a natural born leader, managing to inspire the archer with courage and a drive to move on despite his lack of faith, and the loss of their longtime friend. It was no wonder; she had taken after Jet more than any other Freedom Fighter, probably holding him in higher regard than the rest. He had her older brother unbound by blood, and she was the younger sister he'd never had.

Every time his mind wandered like that, the grim reality settled in too heavily to remind him of their situation. The effort was long and exhausting; Longshot knew if it got much worse in here, his nose would start bleeding. It always did at incredible heights, and in dry weather; most times, he could control it if he focused hard enough and clenched his nostrils, but hunger and thirst and blindness and soreness all added onto the fact that he was putting all his energy into moving rocks out to clear a hole in the wall of debris. He wouldn't have the energy to stop it, even if he _did_ clench his nostrils.

Sweat poured down his brow, got into his eyes; he clenched his jaw at first, trying to operate in despite of that - but...there was nothing he needed to _see_ here anyway, and shutting his eyes would solve the problem, wouldn't it? He felt them slide shut, rubbed them with the back of his hand, and...yeah, the stinging went away. Good. He and Smellerbee worked in silence, shifting rocks, carving out a tunnel - trying, so hard, to breach the barrier and get into the lake. Their air supply wouldn't last much longer, each breath drawn becoming harder and hotter, scraping his throat. They wouldn't be able to carry on like this.

"Okay," Smellerbee murmured, her voice more hoarse than usual, reedy. Longshot had his entire upper body stuck into the rock tunnel; he grabbed one rock at a time, rolling it down past his side for Smellerbee to catch and throw to the opposite side of the room, keeping his path clear. His fingertips - calloused from drawing, notching and releasing so many arrows in his time as a Freedom Fighter - cracked and hurt and probably bled, the crimson liquid seeping into the wrappings around his hands, wrists and forearms. Might as well be invisible.

Though the tunnel was narrow, it could accommodate him with ease; the lumpy surface dug into his ribcage, and his own body heat reverberated off it, making it even stuffier than the room behind him. So when his fingertips grazed across a cool, slick rock - he thought, at first, that he was simply imagining the sensation. No, it couldn't be, could it? It must have been his fingertips, maybe they _had_ gone bloody, and that's where the damp feeling came from...but it wasn't _warm_, wasn't _sticky_...

Any doubt clouding his mind evaporated as a chilled, wet trail began to trickle down his front.

Longshot froze.

"Longshot?" Smellerbee whispered - there wasn't enough air left for anything more than that. "What's goin' on? Did you - "

Yes - they'd done it, the lake was close. If they moved this rock, it should be enough - they just needed to instigate the next part of this ramshackle plan she'd come up with.

"Hmph. Don't see you doing any better." Despite her hushed tone, Longshot could hear her smirking; she had every right to rub that one in his face, because it was true. He didn't have anything he could offer up to help them escape.

He backed out of the tunnel, the rocks scraping his elbows, forearms, brushing the back of his head; he worked to undo the mantle tied around his neck, undoing the knot with deft, sore fingers, the dusty, frayed cloth familiar in his hands. He could envision the worn, faded crimson fabric in his mind's eye - and he felt a twinge of regret, knowing he'd likely be leaving the article behind. That thing had been with him for almost as long as Jet had been.

Smellerbee would be leaving behind her armor, had already lost her dagger...his bow, a gift from Jet as much as the dagger had been to Smellerbee, had already splintered and rested somewhere above them, under tons of rubble. He guessed that the mantle made it fair trade...weapon for weapon, cloth for armor, memory for memory.

And they both lost Jet.

They'd be leaving a lot behind, in this underground tomb meant for three that could only successfully hold one. The brightest, most passionate, most patriotic of all of them. The one who should have survived before Longshot, before Smellerbee. The one who should be leading this escape attempt.

Better just not to think about it.

With the mantle undone and now clutched in his sore hands, Longshot clambered back into the tunnel and felt around for the one rock that needed to be pulled out - the first link in a chain reaction that would flood the rest of the room and create their escape route. He found it quickly - a rough sphere that was about the size of his fist. Just to make sure this was their winner, he tugged at it, miniscule by any standards; it yielded the perfect result, a subtle shift in all the rocks behind and above it. The water flowed just a bit faster down between the rocks above, soaking Longshot's tunic even more, now some even splashing down on the back of his head. Not a lot - but enough.

The next part of the job called for one of the wrappings around his forearms; backing out of the tunnel now would be a mistake, so he instead shifted over onto his back, bringing his right elbow up. He unclasped the wooden arm brace that kept him steady when aiming an arrow at the worst of times; this was another scrap of the past abandoned, sent clattering down the tunnel, stopping just short of the exit. Smellerbee knew, though - Longshot heard her reach in, pick the piece of equipment up and toss it out of the way. With that gone, he began unwinding the gauze wrap on his right arm, stopping when his wrist had gone bare, his skin cool and tingling (when was the last time he'd taken them off?). Then the left arm, too, and when he held both sets of wraps in hand, he was ready to go.

Fumbling with the loose ends of the wrapping, he turned himself over onto his front again and searched for the leaking rock; he poked the ends of the wrapping at the edge of the rock, feeding it through a small gap between it and the others around it. He grabbed the ends as they snuck out from the other side of the gap and tied them into a sturdy knot, but his fingers had started going numb from the water flow, the joints stiff and aching. Just - just a little more, come on, come on...there! He tugged on the knot, testing its sturdiness - it held, and that was good, it would do the trick. He backed out of the tunnel, the rocks digging into his palms, his knees, his shins, clutching the mantle in one hand and the other end of the wraps in the opposite.

Finally, out of the tunnel, but the suppressive heat didn't improve, and breathing was - was so hard now. Twisting the wrappings around his hand, using the mantle as a glove to keep them from slipping out, he glanced over to where Smellerbee should be, even though he couldn't see her; he knew her too well, could tell the pensive look on her face, her lips pursed and eyes flitting left and right. She didn't know if this would work or not. If it didn't...

The archer reached out with a hand, groped the air, and found - ah, the back of her head, the hair matted and oily and unruly, and dug his fingers into it, rubbing her scalp, brushing her headband. It'd be okay. No matter what happened, they'd have each other.

"Heh," she whispered. "Thanks."

He felt himself smiling, drew one last breath of stale, dusty air, and pulled.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee could hear the rocks inside the tunnel straining as Longshot yanked on it; for a few dreadful seconds that felt like an eternity, she could swear the wrappings would snap, meaning their plan would get much more dangerous.

She didn't get to register much else beyond that; she heard Longshot grunt, stumble backwards - and then, ice-cold water, torrenting in, roaring and seething like a forest fire, but, so _freezing_ rushing, crashing against her legs, her torso, so fast, too fast, deafening, and, and, and _light_, filtered and dim but light nonetheless and for a split second, she saw part of their prison, swallowed in dark, glistening ichor, and as low-pitched as it was, her eyes still tightened in pain, there'd been _nothing_ to go by down here, just -

- she tried gasping for air, taking in one last gulp, something to last her all the way to the surface, but -

- water splashed into her mouth -

- yanked at her, sucked her away, away from the prison, she'd wanted to get out but not like _this_ -

- disoriented, which way -

- cold raking its fingers through her hair, her clothes -

- nothing, can't hear, just her pulse throbbing in her ears, just, _silence_ -

- light, light, follow the light -

- eyes wide, vision fuzzy from the water, she craned her head down (up?) -

- there, light gray as opposed to dark gray -

- spirits, give her the strength to -

- to -

- she shoved at the water, didn't swim, didn't make the sweeping, broad strokes she'd learned so many years ago -

- it sloshed through her fingertips, useless -

- fringe of brown hair, drifting in her vision -

- lungs burning -

- muscles sore, cramped -

- throat alight in fire -

- jaw wants to unclench, to -

- breathe, only liquid death all around -

- breathe -

- breathe -

- _breathe_ -

- so, so far away -

- opened her mouth -

- choked -

- Longshot -

- sorry...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot saw her seize - saw her claw up at the water's surface - and then stop moving. His eyes went wide; even though his body ached and his lungs screamed for air, they had only put half the lake's depth between themselves and their prison. The archer pushed with arms strengthened by years of drawing bowstrings taut, making great, broad strokes, the water sifting through his fingers. He had the benefit of longer limbs, and breath control was part of his training; Smellerbee should've been able to make the distance too, but the water had rushed in so fast, had sucked them out, disorienting them both - she probably didn't even have the chance to breathe before they got swept out, and, and Longshot should have _known_ that something like this could have happened!

So enraged in his own short-sightedness (and not at all amused by the irony of it), so lost in the chest-shattering urgency, all other thought pushed itself out of his mind; all that mattered was getting to the surface now, he couldn't do this without Smellerbee, he _needed_ her! He'd closed the distance between himself and Bee before even realizing it, grabbing her by the wrist and hooking her arm over his neck, looping his left arm around Smellerbee's side. It didn't matter now, they had to get to the top, they had to break the surface and anything less was unacceptable, and her clothes pressed tightly against his, her hair stroking his cheek, her head limp, oh Spirits, oh Spirits, come _on_!

Didn't pay attention to how far away the surface looked, could be a five yards, could be _fifty_ yards, didn't matter, had to reach it anyway, he could feel cold seeping into his being, his fingers numb, his legs leaden, and, and Smellerbee's (don't say body!), so light, _too_ light, like it was empty, hollow, a shell and nothing more, but it couldn't be true, Jet was already like that and, and Smellerbee couldn't -

Air! He broke the surface, shattered it, cold and refreshing and, and his muscles, lungs, throat still howled, but that wasn't important, wasn't, wasn't! The storm pissed down around him, Smellerbee had said the rain was coming down in torrents, and she hadn't lied, her wrists told the truth, they always had, rain getting caught between her skin and shackles, he hadn't _known_ that till now, and he'd known her for so long, she'd been the first to understand him so easily, without needing to speak, and, and there couldn't be a world without Smellerbee at his side, there couldn't -

Wind bit his skin, shrieked into his ears, the water lapping at him, thunder rumbling, a flicker of lightning in the distance - there! A sandbank, close, but too far away all at once, had to, had to _hurry_, water roiling and angry and trying to pull them under again, but it wouldn't, too much was on the line, he'd defy Mother Nature _herself_ to save this lanky, boyish person who knew so much about him, who could communicate with him effortlessly, Bee could die, she could leave him all alone, no Freedom Fighters, no Jet, no Smellerbee...just him, just Longshot, and, and Just Longshot may as well have been nobody without the other two to help define him.

He reached the land - just a tiny little spit, risen enough from the depths to perforate the surface of the lake before sloping back down into the abyss again. He clambered up onto it, soaked, tired, ready to pass out, but driven on by the _very real_ probability that he could still lose the only person in his life left to give him balance. Panting, muscles sore, Longshot hauled Smellerbee up and lay her flat on her back, the rain hammering down on all sides, splattering against his back, his neck, his head, but he only felt the impact at this point, his entire body soaked from the lake. The sand stuck to Bee's clothes and got in her hair - she'd be so pissed off at him when she woke up.

If - no! No ifs.

Longshot leaned in close to her mouth, her jaw having gone slack; her full upper lip caught his attention for a moment, one of her more defining natural traits, so, so _her_, she said it made her look slack-jawed, and maybe it _did_, but that was part of what defined her. He had to look away, needed to listen; he tilted his head to the side, ear less than an inch from her lips, scrutinizing, had to discern the sound of her breathing over the hissing rain, caressing his cheek with gentle brush strokes, should have, should have -

Nothing. No breathing - Longshot felt panic clawing at him like a yowling child, and he swatted the sensation away with keen desperation. He knew what to do - Sneers had taught him, taught all of them, what to do in this situation, but the archer knew he'd paid the sharpest attention of all, because what Sneers had said at the time had been absolutely fascinating.

_"It focuses on important chi areas,"_ the young monk had explained, his squat face curling into the nonchalant smirk for which he was so named. _"You place a fist on the chest of the person who has inhaled water, and then your hand goes over your fist. Pump ten times - this is to get blocked chi to start flowing again. After thirty of these motions, move your hands to the person's head - "_ He motioned The Duke forward with a finger, the boy looking sidewaysedly at Pipsqueak before scooting off his seat and approaching Sneers. _" - and pinch his nose shut with one hand. The other hand is used to keep their jaw open."_ He demonstrated this on The Duke, causing the younger boy to fidget out of Sneers' grasp; this drew a snicker from some of the others, and The Duke blushed, marching back to Pipsqueak's side. _"Press your mouth against theirs and breathe into them; this serves no other purpose than to encourage them to start breathing themselves. Any water will get forced out of their lungs...assuming the technique works."_

Hand over fist, right between Smellerbee's breasts, her tunic damp and cold (like her skin), rough against the side of his hand, Longshot pumped, mimicking the motions Sneers had taught them, breath hot, mind reeling. A secret blessing had come with Bee deciding to cast aside the chest plate, made this part easier, didn't have to fumble with the straps that held them on, with cold, numb, shaking fingers.

_Twenty-eight - twenty-nine - thirty_ - and then away, up to Smellerbee's head. The mascara below her eyes, and the stripes of red war paint on her cheeks had not run; they were waterproof, but not smudge proof. Something else she'd be annoyed about, especially when, in his bumbling, frantic rush to grab her nose, his palm brushed against one of her cheeks, smearing the paint on that side. He tried hard not to let how frosted her cheek had felt sink down into his mind. Pinching her nostrils shut and opening her jaw with the other hand, Longshot drew a deep breath and pressed his mouth sideways against hers; he breathed down, down past her lips and tongue and teeth and throat, his pulse throbbing in his ears.

He waited, backed away, drew a deep breath, and repeated the motion. As he did, though, Sneers' voice rose up in the back of his mind, delivering a haunting warning - one the young monk had issued at the end of his lesson.

_"Be careful. Do not use this technique on just anybody,"_ he had said, his smirk fading into a somber frown. _"If you have a Waterbender handy, have him get the water out of their lungs. And if it's a person you can live without...better to let them die."_

_"Why's that?"_ Pipsqueak had asked, and Longshot could remember the giant's lips pursing, his brow furrowing. _"You're sayin', even if an innocent bystander almost drowns, we shouldn't help them...?"_

Sneers had nodded, letting his eyes slide shut. _"Drowning is a method of killing the Spirits prefer to invoke as a very, very last resort. Drowning victims are not meant to come back. Or, that's what I was taught, anyway. Using this technique to revive someone from death via drowning is the same as spitting in a Spirit's face. You may have done it out of the kindness of your heart...but you risk invoking the wrath of the Spirit World each time you do it. They may be compassionate enough to understand your situation...but, they may also be cruel, and decide to take your life, or another one close to you, in exchange for the one you've robbed them of."_

Longshot squinched his eyes shut and forced the warning away. Smellerbee was worth that risk, dammit, and she deserved her second chance to go on living.

Her third chance, technically. _Their_ third chance. Jet had botched try number two.

He moved away from her mouth, as Sneers had instructed so long ago, and pumped her chest again, and this time the panicky, yowling child managed to claim him; he pushed down on her abdomen, not hard enough to hurt her, but frantic enough to betray the normally stoic archer's horror. He grit his teeth, his eyes wide and fiery; he felt his mouth pull down into a ferocious snarl, one he had to will away so he could breathe into her again - share his life with her - willing her to live, please, _live_ -

Nothing.

Smellerbee remained still - cold - lifeless. Unnatural. Her hair clung in rat tails that framed her face, the rest of it soggy and swept backwards - so different, so unlike her. The water had plastered most of it flat and straight, almost making her look - girlish. Not the wild, shaggy, tomboy hair that more resembled a broom.

Her face - so pale, the pronounced upper lip curled into a soft, resigned frown. With her eyes closed, she looked as if she were sleeping...not like this, not dead, not so...

So _wrong_.

Longshot stared, the rain pounding down around him - not _them_, not anymore, now it was just him - splashing down onto his head, his body, as he kneeled in the sand. It landed heavy on his neck, running down his back - it would have chilled him normally, but he didn't feel it. All he felt - sorrow. Rage.

Shame.

How could she?

He slammed his fists into the sand and closed his eyes tight; a fierce, inhuman noise tore from his throat, muffled by his tunic and yet still rising up, out, towards the heavens, the Spirit World, or even just to Ba Sing Se in the distance - whoever could hear it. Tears stung his eyes again, but vanished into the rivulets of water already streaming down his face as soon as they left their sanctuary.

How dare she?

His fault - he should have known. Should have swam faster. Should have seen it coming, done something about it - but there was nothing _to_ be done. Nothing to be _said_, like always. Him and his damn silence; where words failed, where simple gestures substituted a whole vocabulary, it meant _nothing_ in the end. First Jet, now Smellerbee; with Pipsqueak and The Duke off to places unknown, Sneers and Skillet incommunicado, it only left him.

Only Longshot.

Alone.

_How dare she?_

His fault. _Her_ fault. Their fault, for being so stupid, so foolish. Idiotic, thinking that they deserved another chance...another, when Jet couldn't have his second chance and ruined it for all three of them. When he started the fight with the teen with the burn on his face. The boy who _could_ have been a Firebender.

Stupid Jet.

Stupid Smellerbee.

Stupid Longshot.

Longshot sobbed, deep, angry, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his eyes to look at Smellerbee one last time - and, in the rain, in the fog, in his haze, the nimble young swordswoman - his best friend, the only person to understand his wordless speech so candidly, suddenly appeared as an enemy. Longshot snarled; vision blurred by rain and tears and hate and shame, he raised a fist up into the air, and brought it down, hard, on her chest, right above the lungs, the same damned spot Sneers had told them about.

The sound was low and wet, like a watermelon being smashed open by a rock. If the blow caused any damage, he couldn't tell...he didn't have that much strength left in him.

That didn't prevent it from working.

It happened all at once, a blur: Smellerbee writhed - coughed - choked up water, spitting it out, dribbling down her chin. She drew one deep breath, a hoarse croak, another, another, and her eyes slid open - and met Longshot's, and he could see the life behind them, he could _see_ it.

She smiled, weak and frail and sickly, and managed to bring a hand up to Longshot's face - running her fingertips against his cheek, cupping his face in her palm, her touch featherlight and trembling and even through her glove, he felt her fingers arching against his skin, and, and, _and_.

"Hgkk." Smellerbee hacked again, but her smile didn't fade. "You d - id good. We're al - hgk - ive. Th - ank you...Longshot." Her voice was so ragged now, so throaty, but she had come back - Spirits be damned, she'd _come back_ to him. Longshot felt a passionate, deep smile cross his lips, and his vision began to blur again; he leaned forward and pressed his body against hers, hair wet and slick and tickling his cheeks, holding her in his arms, oh, she hadn't abandoned him, she hadn't, she...

"You jerk," he whispered, a small chuckle wracking his body.

Smellerbee brought her other hand to the back of his head; most of his ponytail had come undone, but it didn't matter, not now, not while she pressed her palm against his scalp. Longshot quaked, and the boy cried - silent again - into Smellerbee's hair.

The rain continued to fall.

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 1: A Fight for Survival**

**End**


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